Guidelines
by ClaudiaRain
Summary: NCIS updates their training guidelines and Granger decides to oversee a practice sparring session, which goes…about as well as can be expected. Callen/Nell
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **I own nothing. This was originally a one-shot about a training session, and I thought 'what if I expand it?' The entire story takes place in one morning with flashbacks/memories to past training sessions and experiences.

A more accurate summary might be: ~10 chapters about two people falling in love. (Truly, this is 90% focused on Callen and Nell's interaction. If that doesn't interest you, turn back now.)

Again, I want to thank everyone who read/left feedback on my last story. It is directly because of you all that I was motivated to finish this story, and what this has turned into.

**Warning: Brief mentions of past child abuse, nothing graphic, or worse than what we've seen in the show with references to Callen's past.**

**XXXXXX**

"Try and look more miserable," Granger suggests, as everyone reluctantly finds spots on the mats in the gym. They've lined up in a predictable pattern, anticipating how they want to pair off: Deeks and Kensi, Sam and Eric, Callen and – oh hell no.

He shakes his head and points two fingers at them, indicating they should separate.

"Problem?" Callen asks, feigning confusion. He stands slightly behind Nell, and to the untrained eye, he appears casually indifferent. Granger (and perhaps the rest of the room) know better.

"Yeah, the two of you together are like fire and gasoline, I'm not dealing with that today."

Callen glances at Nell who shrugs, as if she, too, has no idea what Granger means (quite laughable, considering the circumstances). "Guess he can't handle us," Callen says.

"I wonder why?" Nell asks, linking her arm with Callen's, the picture of innocence. "We treat each other so fairly. I think we're NCIS's golden example when it comes to sparring, aren't we?"

Callen thinks about that for a moment too long. "I don't know if 'golden' is the word you're looking for."

She smiles up at him. "It's the word I'd use."

Her words would have more impact if she and Callen weren't regular sparring partners with an equally long record of not playing fair. It had started about seven months earlier, when Nell asked around for someone willing to help her train in their off hours. Callen had the most free time, having not much of a personal life (or none at all, as Nell liked to say) and so he'd agreed. Truth be told, once the idea of helping her learn to protect herself had gotten into his head, he couldn't shake it. She got into trouble far more than she should, so honing her fighting skills was a cause he willingly threw himself into.

It only took one session for him to see her potential. She was good (NCIS ensured they were trained well) she just needed more practice to become great, and since it wasn't a skill she was prized upon having, she didn't have much time within the bounds of her actual job to practice – which led to early morning sessions and late night sessions, and, increasingly, weekends where they'd meet up to practice. They got together a few times a week, depending on their cases, and their moods. Lately they practiced more than they did in the beginning.

She excelled to the point that, outside of Sam, no one could anticipate him more than she could. He took no small amount of pride in her success either (which he loved to goad her about – every win she got was thanks to the techniques he'd taught her, and every loss was due to her poor application of those techniques – this usually led to her laying him out on the mat, but he didn't mind).

Granger (mostly) liked that they had started training together. Callen made Nell stronger, and in turn, Nell made him…lighter somehow. Granger couldn't exactly describe it, except to say that Callen smiled easier, laughed more, and generally appeared as if he weren't carrying the world on his shoulders. He'd often catch the younger man glancing at the time impatiently, as if he had somewhere to be, when everyone knew his only plans were to train with Nell.

They both seemed to have become better at their jobs because of their training, so Granger hoped they'd keep up the positive influence on each other. Truthfully, in the long run, he hoped their newfound acquaintance would translate to Callen (and by extension, Sam) throttling back on the intensity with which they approached certain cases, especially those that they found to be of personal significance.

The only potential problem was that Callen had decided to teach Nell what he called 'real life scenarios'. Fights outside the safety of training sessions were messy and bloody and no one fought fair – and as Callen constantly reminded Nell: _you could die_. Granger couldn't begrudge Callen wanting to teach Nell how to save her own life, the issue was that it meant regular training sessions were hard for both of them, having to readjust to the rules of fairness set forth by NCIS for those encounters.

Granger had talked to Callen about it, warned him about teaching Nell the proper way to fight according to the rules. Callen had agreed, and they practiced training with rules and without. However, they both preferred training 'without' and it was generally their default mode. Callen dedicated himself to teaching her every trick in his arsenal, and she picked up on them faster than anyone expected.

As a result, in any kind of training situation, they were the two worst people to face each other in terms of surprise maneuvers and unfair hits. Nell still felt a compulsion to follow the rules when it was required, and she at least tried to get Callen to comply. Whether he listened or not was up to Callen's mood that day, and if he disregarded the rules, she pretty much had to, as well, to keep up with him. In the end, it was easier for Granger to separate them and save himself the headache.

That reminded him – he needed to stock up on aspirin, because they increasingly took their 'training' outside of the gym. More than once, Granger had seen them try to surprise each other during a normal day at work. Hetty had put a screeching halt to that, at least in Ops, when Callen had surprised Nell one day and her automatic reaction had been to lash out and shove him into Eric's monitor, which went careening to the floor (Callen swore Eric had almost cried).

Granger still wasn't convinced they'd completely stopped when Hetty was conveniently absent – he'd walked in on more than a few suspicious encounters, and if it were literally _any other __two people _in the building, he'd have wondered exactly what was going on. Somehow, though, he knew it was just their strange way of training. Their relationship confused him more than anything else. He did what he liked to do best with problems he'd rather not examine too closely – he ignored it.

In any event, it's an old argument they've rehashed many times. Granger doesn't want to deal with their antics and they damn well know it, which is probably why they've tried to pair up today. If giving each other grief is their number one joy, then giving _h__im_ grief probably sits squarely at second on each of their lists.

They both watch him, trying to determine how serious he is. They decide not to test him – there's always later in the morning.

Callen pushes her toward Eric. "Get away from me before Granger has a meltdown."

Granger uses every fiber of his being to avoid rolling his eyes – he has to set a professional example. "I'm not going to have a 'meltdown', I only want this to be a fair fight." He suppresses a sigh when Callen and Nell only smirk at each other. "I know I don't have to remind you that you two are incapable of such a thing."

"You make us sound so…formidable," Nell tells Granger, sounding quite flattered. She moves over to Eric's side anyways.

"No. No, no, no," Eric begs. "Make her partner with Kensi. Or Sam. This isn't fair to me."

Nell stops herself from making a joke about accidentally maiming him. "I'm not going to hurt you," she promises.

"That's what you always say to Callen. Right before you try to hurt him."

"He deserves it," Nell says smoothly, ignoring Callen laughing in the background. "Besides, the difference is I mean it this time."

Granger feels for Eric, he really does, but he knows the analyst has a better chance at learning with Nell than with Sam or Callen. "Let her teach you. I don't think Nell's out to hurt you, Beale."

Eric isn't so sure. He takes a deep breath when Nell smiles at him – he isn't reassured; he's seen the things she's done – not just to Callen, but to Sam, Deeks, and Kensi when she occasionally switches up her sparring partners.

"You look like you're lining up for a firing squad," Granger scolds everyone, when he notices that no one looks particularly thrilled to be at their mandated session.

Deeks raises his hand. "To be fair –"

"Shut up, Mr. Deeks. This will be less painful than an execution…for some of you. As you know, NCIS's main priority is the safety of the public, its agents, and yes, even the criminals we pursue. We've recently updated our training manuals based on analyses of the past year's cases, agent feedback, and new research into the most effective training methods. These guidelines reflect our continual aim of finding safer, more practical, less _dangerous _–" he directs this at Sam and Callen, "– ways of taking down suspects."

Callen doesn't know how many times he has to explain last week to Granger's satisfaction. "I can't help it that McMillan _chose_ to jump off that roof."

"After you broke his leg," Granger reminds him.

"A casualty of running away from me after he'd shot someone. Besides, he could have broken his leg in the fall. Prove that he didn't."

"At least he didn't die and we were able to interrogate him. That's why we're here. Not only to keep suspects from suffering debilitating injuries –"

"Lawsuits," Deeks coughs, which doesn't cover up his word in any effective way.

"– But more importantly these new guidelines are to protect every single one of you." Granger carefully meets the eyes of each person standing on the mats in front of him. "We'll always have people who'll break the law. It's not so easy to replace those who dedicate their lives to upholding it."

"Getting sentimental, Granger?" Sam asks.

"More like cost-effective." He clears his throat. "Do you know how much it costs to train agents for years and get them to the point where they have the collective experience this team has?"

"Aw, stop," Kensi teases. "You're gonna make us cry."

"How many of these sessions do we have to go through, anyways?" Deeks asks.

"As many as you need until I decide to pass you," Granger says, ignoring the complaints that follow his statement. As if he wants to be there any more than they do! He curses his inability to let Henrietta sign off on their evaluations, but when it comes to her team, 'lenient' is about the mildest he can call her. More like she'll let them do whatever the hell they want while she looks the other way, as long as they catch whoever they're chasing and complete whatever tasks they're assigned.

Granger has to answer to more people than she does, and he isn't going to let her rubber stamp things this time around. It absolutely _doesn't _have anything to do with his concerns about the ways some of them handle themselves in the field, or that he's checking up on them to ensure they don't stupidly get themselves killed (Eric Beale). Not at all.

Besides, maybe his presence will convince Callen and Hanna that he's serious about their evaluations this year and they have to tone things down. He's running out of creative ways to explain why they've shot people.

"You know an easier way to take down a suspect?" Callen flips through the manual – it has updated pictures of all the new 'field-tested' moves they're supposed to master. "Shoot them."

"Agent Callen," Granger rips the book from his hands and shakes it, as if to prove his point, "that is what we're trying to avoid."

Eric's been slowly inching his way backwards until Granger notices his movement and points at him to get back in line. He returns, muttering about how years of typing hasn't prepared him for this.

Nell knows Granger doesn't want her partnering with Callen for various (and admittedly valid) reasons, but that doesn't mean she's the best choice to partner with Eric. She sidles slightly to her left to whisper to Callen, "Switch with me."

He leans around her to catch sight of Eric wringing his hands and trying to get Hetty's attention on the sidelines for help. "Not a chance in hell. Good luck with him."

Nell doesn't deserve this. She's been trying to talk Eric down from his metaphorical ledge for nearly a week, ever since the new manual had come out, and he _still_ thinks quitting might be a viable alternative to Granger's latest ultimatum.

Callen has no clue the kinds of things she puts up with on a daily basis, and after his refusal to switch, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. When Granger calls for his attention, she takes advantage of his distraction, hooking her left leg around his right one and pulling – she knows, even as she does it, that this is the kind of thing Granger disapproves of, and she doesn't care. Callen predictably loses his balance and (somewhat less predictably) grabs her arm to steady himself. She reflexively shoves him away, so when he falls, she goes down with him and they land in a sprawled heap on the floor, her slightly on top of him.

The room falls silent as everyone stares at them. Deeks frantically flips through pages in his copy of the manual. "I don't see that one in here. What's it called?"

"It's called 'Nell cheats'," Callen says, and she'd know he didn't mean it even if he didn't run a hand down her arm and squeeze her wrist before getting to his feet. As far as they're concerned, there's no such thing as 'cheating', although they still like to throw the excuse around as a means to antagonize each other.

"It's called 'you taught me how to do it, so you have no right to complain'," she counters smugly.

Deeks wonders how he and Kensi always win the prize for most complex relationship in those unofficial polls their co-workers annoyingly take. He says what everyone's thinking. "I believe it's called 'neither of you can play fair – ever'."

"We can definitely play fair," Callen argues as he stands over Nell. She's propped on her arms, in no hurry to get up. "We just…never want to?" It comes out as more of a question than he intends, and he glances at her for confirmation.

Nell meets his eyes and can't quite hide her smile. She wonders what goes on in his mind. Maybe even he doesn't know. "Whatever you need to tell yourself to justify it when I win."

In answer, he holds out a hand to her, only to pull it away the second she reaches for it. "I don't need to justify anything."

"Very mature," she says, sitting up and quickly wrapping an arm around his legs – he's made a critical mistake by standing so close to her, and they both know it. She can pull him back down again in a second. "Maybe rethink your position?" She means it both literally and figuratively.

"Sorry," he says, insincerely. "Your move was completely fair."

She considers tightening her grip on his legs and forcing him to lose his balance. He holds out his hand to her again; this time he doesn't pull it away when she takes hold. He helps her to her feet, wary the entire time for any move she might make against him. She can tell exactly what he's thinking.

Their eyes meet in a wordless conversation and no one moves until Sam clears his throat and breaks the strange silence that has descended upon the room. "Anyone that can take you down deserves respect, G. Even if you went down in the process, Nell."

Callen releases her hand and Nell steps back automatically. "Thanks, Sam," she says, as Callen shakes his head and mutters 'traitor' at his partner under his breath.

They've only been in the gym for fifteen minutes, and Granger knows he's in for a _long _day. "We haven't started yet. Point to Jones."

Callen doesn't appreciate that. "How does she get a point if we haven't started?"

"Consider it a reminder to keep alert, Callen," Granger tells him. "Isn't that one of your favorite rules? Criminals aren't out there announcing when they're going to come after you."

Nell moves back to Eric's side as Callen mouths 'I'm watching you' at her, and she infuriatingly waves back, as if she doesn't care. "It's on," Callen mutters. "It's _so on_."

Nell doesn't get very far with Eric before he darts off, insisting he needs to consult the manual, and Nell goes back to one of the benches on the sidelines. A handful of agents are at the end of the room on exercise equipment, a few more are scattered on the benches taking breaks from their own work-outs and watching the ones who are sparring as a form of entertainment. Kensi and Deeks are on the furthest mat at the end of the room, Callen and Sam in the middle, and her and Eric nearer to the door. This 'training' (and she uses that word as loosely as possible) is just for their team.

Her eyes don't stray far from the two men practicing on the middle mat and she can't help thinking about the past seven months. She's spent over half a year training with Callen.

They've become friends and it surprises her how much she likes it. How much she likes _him_. She can admit she'd been thrown. She had expected him to be a good teacher, but more along the lines of coldly efficient and deadly serious. She imagined him as being somewhere between drill sergeant and Hetty. So she'd been delighted to find that he was easygoing and approachable, right from the first day when he'd expertly set her at ease. Sessions wore on and she realized he wasn't just smart and capable, ruthless if he had to be, but also kind and funny. When he explained things, she just _knew _what he meant.

Over time, she went from viewing their training as a necessary obligation, to looking forward to their time together. And, more often than not, lately, their training is the best part of her day.

His manner shouldn't have surprised her, not after she'd seen the easy way he directed people. He had a gift for getting others to do exactly what he wanted, often without them realizing that it hadn't been their idea in the first place. In less than a week, the way she saw him changed. The respect was still there; the shift went deeper than that. It went to who he was as a person.

Talking to him was as easy as learning from him. They'd both found it astonishingly easy to carry on normal conversations while training. He'd shared things he hadn't told many people (she suspected that a few were things he hadn't told anyone). Sometimes he'd say something about himself, and then go quiet, like he didn't know why he'd said it. She would let it go, or share her own story, or make a joke to get him out of a dark place she didn't want him falling into.

In the second week, their sixth session to be exact, she asked how long he'd been able to fight, and he'd told her a story about one of his foster homes, having to learn how to protect himself from foster brothers that liked to jump him when he least expected it. "Don't know why they even used the term 'brothers', they'd just as soon have killed me if they could. That was a good home, though, only had the other kids to worry about and not the adults, too."

She'd pretty much stopped breathing when he said that to her. "You were eight years old."

He'd immediately noticed her unnatural stillness and moved closer to her where they were sitting on the mats. "No, hey," he winked at her, "I've always been fast. The ones I couldn't fight, I always outran." And the worst was how he said it _joking_, like that was supposed to make her feel better. It had been the first time she touched him that had nothing to do with their sparring. She couldn't stop herself from leaning into him and wrapping her arms around his middle as she put her head on his shoulder and tried not to cry. It had confused the hell out of him, too, until he took three seconds to process that she wasn't trying to stealthily pin him, she was just hugging him and nothing more. He'd carefully put his arm around her, and they'd sat there for a few minutes in a gym that suddenly didn't feel as cold as it had before.

After that, they traded stories as if it were a requirement of training together. He spoke of his past cases, the ones he thought she'd find interesting, whether good or bad. He didn't shy away from details once he realized she didn't need, or want, a censored version of his past. In return, she told him about her life up until NCIS. For a time, she shied away from stories outside of college, only occasionally sharing snippets about her family and growing up. Around session 12, when they'd both ended up on the mat, staring at the ceiling, he'd turned his head to say, "I wish you'd tell me more of your happy stories."

He somehow knew that she'd held back from tales of her idyllic childhood and loving family because he hadn't had the same. Until his reassurance, she'd felt guilty about telling him stories of her good life while he'd had one that should have broken him – that should have left him bitter and furious, blaming the world for his problems until he ended up in jail, or dead.

Instead, he'd clawed his way out and fought to be the kind of man no one had been for him as a child. He refused to let life break him, and used every painful experience to forge himself into one of the strongest people she knew.

Her thoughts were too much to keep to herself, no matter how embarrassing it might have been to admit the depths to which she'd thought about his life. So she'd told him how much she admired him (and why) somewhere around week five, as they sat on a bench in the gym, cooling off after a fairly standard lesson. He'd been quiet until she tried to leave, stopping her with a hand on her arm. He'd said that his past was what it was, and it made him who he was, and he'd never seen it as anything more than a regular life – sadder than some, sure – but nothing particularly special. He'd told her that her feelings, the way she saw him – he thought it said more about the goodness in her than it said about _anything_ in him.

**XXXXXX**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thank you so much for your feedback! I love you guys.

Just a head's up, this story plays with time a bit in that the memories/flashbacks are out of order. Also, I took a little liberty with their backgrounds.

To the guest reviewer who wants more romance – give me some time! This will be 10 chapters, if you stick with it long enough I am pretty sure you'll be rewarded, at least I hope that's how you feel by the end.

**XXXXXX**

Nell returns to the mat when Granger waves everyone over for a demonstration. He's chosen Deeks as his volunteer (or…victim?), putting him in a hold and instructing him on how to get out of it. Deeks seems genuinely afraid of Granger and isn't doing much more than complaining that Kensi would be better suited for class demonstrations.

Nell feels slightly bad for Deeks when Granger flips him over and brings him down to the mat.

"You failed to get out of the hold," Sam takes great pleasure in stating the obvious.

"No, I got out of it," Deeks sputters, bounding back to his feet, "you know, after he threw me down. That was like getting out of it…in a way."

Callen crosses his arms and leans closer to Nell. "I think you could take Granger."

She shoots him her usual 'you-are-crazy-and-stop-talking-before-you-get-us-in-trouble' look.

"No, really," he insists, "I think you should get up there."

"Be quiet, he's going to hear us and then he will torture us. Is that you want?" She instantly regrets the question as it probably _is _what Callen wants.

"We gotta work on your confidence, Nell."

"Did you see what he did to Deeks?" She whispers vehemently, "I don't need that. Not today."

As they argue, Granger tells Deeks that since he's more or less useless, he needs a different volunteer – preferably one who won't whine about bruises marring his perfect skin.

Callen keeps his voice low. "I'll volunteer you, Nell. I have no doubt that –"

"Don't you dare!" She hisses. She can handle herself by now, but there's probably no way she can take Granger using any of the new techniques, not unless he deliberately lets her – and he doesn't appear to be in the mood, from the way he made Deeks try (and fail) to earn his escape. She doesn't relish the thought of being humiliated by their boss in front of everyone she respects.

Granger can't take them anymore. "Am I interrupting you two by trying to give a lesson? Maybe you'd both like to teach it?"

Callen thinks it's the best idea he's heard today. "Nice call, I think my expertise would –"

"Offer rescinded," Granger quickly shuts him down. He has to watch _every damn_ _word_ with these people. "Callen or Jones – one of you get up here to demonstrate with me," he demands, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nell's already protesting when Callen claps his hands together with enthusiasm. "Actually, Nell and I were discussing it and she said she'd _love_ to –" he glances at her, way too pleased with himself, "– watch me volunteer."

Nell breathes a sigh of relief, torn between wanting to hit him or hug him. Granger regards them suspiciously. He's not going to ask. "We're following the rules, Agent Callen. No surprises."

"No surprises," Callen promises. "Though, are you sure you don't want a handicap, sir?"

"Can you guys wait while I get my phone to record this?" Deeks asks. "I want video proof that this happened."

Granger stops him with a glare, and Callen stretches his arms behind his back. "Sorry, you'll have to rely on memory Deeks. I'm sure it's going to make a great story for us to tell." He says the last with a glance at Nell.

She recognizes his allusion to their game. After they became comfortable with one another, it wasn't uncommon for one of them to request a story about the other's life. They'd pick a mood or emotion – excitement or fear or surprise. Occasionally, on more melancholy days, they'd request something angry or sad. Callen's favorite request? Something happy.

The first time it had really become a game had been around mid-summer (session 14), and they'd been increasingly vexed by the miserable weather, an unrelenting heat wave for their city that had everyone irritable and on edge. He'd asked (slightly joking) for something cold. She told him about the time her uncle fell off the roof on Christmas Eve while pretending to be Santa, and a snowbank had saved his life. Her whole family had spent the holiday in the hospital with him as he nursed a broken leg, and they never let him live it down. Nor would they ever forget his devotion to his kids and nieces and nephews to try and ensure they kept believing in magic.

"Doesn't sound like it was a great Christmas for him," Callen pointed out, ducking away when she tried to hit him, and she stopped for a minute, breathing hard.

"To this day he says it was the best Christmas he ever had. Swears up and down the real Santa made sure the snowbank was there. In truth, my dad was lazy and that's where he put all the snow from our driveway, just pushed up near the side of the house."

"You did it, cold _and _still happy," his eyes held his appreciation. "Your family sounds great."

"They are, you should meet them." The words were out before she could stop them. "I mean, they're back on the East Coast, but if they ever visit…"

He didn't seem to notice her discomfort. "I'd like that." Then he'd swept her off her feet, literally, and she'd congratulated herself on feeling awkward for no reason (as usual).

Time inevitably passed, heat of summer giving way to a cooler autumn, not that they had seasons like back East, but she appreciated the slight change. When he asked for 'colorful', she told him about going on fall leaf walks with her mother, picking the prettiest ones to make collages for her father while they waited for him to come home from work. He'd framed every last one of them, and the best ones still hung on the walls of their house.

In turn, Callen felt he owed her some happiness, and told her about some of his earliest memories involving the ocean. He'd had a good family once, for a couple months, that loved it, too. They'd gone together, like a 'real family', and he'd made sandcastles, and the boy and girl were actually nice (the couple's 'real' kids, he said offhandedly, like it meant nothing – and it didn't to him, but she had to carefully keep her heart together at the thought of an entire childhood lived as the 'other' kid, the one who didn't matter as much). His foster brother and sister had helped him gather seashells to dig the moats and decorate the towers, and the whole family would often stay the entire day at the beach until the sun went down and they were forced to pack up and go. He loved sunsets, too, not for their beauty, but because of those memories on the beach that he'd held so close to his heart for 30-something years.

It's been about more than the stories, though. It's the small things they've shared. Seeing him smile at one of her memories, or a joke she told, always lit her up inside more than when _he _made _her _smile. She liked bringing him joy; she thought he needed it more than the others. She'd catch him looking at her, sometimes, like he was grateful. On occasion, an odd look would cross his face, almost like he couldn't believe she was there. She didn't know why he'd feel that way, because while she knew what she was getting out of their training, she had a harder time figuring out what, exactly, he got out of their arrangement. Maybe he felt obligated to help her protect herself. Or, more likely, he was thrilled at the idea of passing along all his unique tricks to a willing subject.

She'd thought they were going to end things after session 100. It had been around a month ago, and Callen had taken the 'significant' number as a good milestone to let her know how far she'd come – she could hold her own with any of them, and she'd shown remarkable skill in using her size and speed to counter what she couldn't make up for in terms of strength.

Thus had started their misunderstanding: Callen had only been taking the opportunity to congratulate her on how far she'd come, and Nell thought he was telling her it was the end.

After he'd laid out every way she'd excelled in their time together, he finished up by adding, "You've far surpassed every goal I had for you from day one."

"Thanks, I worked hard." She forced herself to smile at him.

He wasn't watching her, so he missed that it hadn't reached her eyes. He pulled at the zipper on his bag – it always got stuck and he knew there was a metaphor about his life in there somewhere. "Yup," he confirmed, "you did. And you got here in only six months."

He didn't seem too broken up about the end of their sessions – she figured that was the only answer she needed to every question she'd never asked. She turned her back to him, intent on hiding her reaction. He'd see it on her face, and she didn't need to guilt him into taking pity on her. She kept her voice light, "Has it been six months already?"

"It went by much faster than I thought it would." He gave up on the zipper and wondered why she seemed off when she'd been fine during their whole session. "I guess time flies when you're learning how to hurt people."

"Right," she said, barely listening. She was trying to process what to do next. She felt like their time together had changed her – no, not just _her_, but her entire world that revolved around work and training and…him. It had been unexpected and enjoyable and eye-opening. She didn't know how to say goodbye to that.

In the beginning, she'd imagined how elated she'd feel on the day she accomplished her goal to the extent that _Callen _more or less thought her his equal in terms of their skill sets (and truth be told, she doubted she'd ever get there). Of course, he could still beat her most of the time, but even that might change with enough practice.

Nothing had prepared her for the reality of the moment – she felt like she'd been slapped in the face. All that time and he was just…done. She felt dejected at the thought, and it wasn't fair that he could easily walk away. She pretended to look through her bag with no real purpose except to avoid looking at him. "As an instructor, you exceeded my expectations. I think I should get you a gift, like a Christmas ornament. Or a mug. World's #1 teacher."

Her words said one thing, but her tone said quite another, and he knew she was upset. He'd missed the reason why. "I'm that good of a teacher?" He joked, as he tried to figure out what was going on with her.

"Obviously," she said, finally turning back to him. She wondered how he could doubt himself. "How else would I have learned so much in such a short time?"

He wanted to tell her that he'd never had anyone in his life who so quickly jumped to his defense – even when they were defending him against himself. "I figured you'd take all the credit for being an excellent student," he said, half-teasing, half-wondering what he was missing.

"Oh. Right." She tried to smile, though she wasn't in the mood to joke around. "No, you were great." She picked up her bag and started to head for the showers.

Callen shrugged off her odd behavior. Everyone was entitled to their moods. "See you Thursday morning? Or is another time better?"

She stopped walking and slowly turned around. "You want to keep training?"

"You don't?" Confusion flooded him, and he rewound their conversation in his mind, trying to figure it out.

"I do, but everything you were saying before…I thought _you_ didn't."

"Like I'm going to let up on you and allow you to fall back to where you were? You only keep up your skills through regular practice," he argued. Her expression of surprise had him rethinking his offer, though. She could have been looking for a way out; she had to know how good she was, that she didn't need him anymore. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel like he expected her to keep training with him. He knew it'd become their regular thing, but there was a difference between that and a regular…_indefinite_ thing.

He almost stopped himself from saying his next words, before deciding that was too selfish. Even for him. "Nell, you can tell me if you want to make other arrangements, or take a break altogether. It's fine if you do."

She'd nearly tripped over herself reassuring him that yes, she wanted to keep training and no, she didn't want to go to a gym or work with anyone else. She neglected to mention how her heart had dropped somewhere around her feet when she thought about it, not so much the idea of training with another person, but if she did that, when would she ever see Callen? _Aside from every day at work_, her mind whispered. It wasn't the same, though. They couldn't _talk _at work, not the way they did alone. They couldn't just _be_ with each other.

So they laughed about the misunderstanding and went on as they had before, and she began to wonder how it was possible to be that happy just _spending time with someone_. A part of her (that she kept safely hidden) was growing increasingly uneasy at their arrangement. It had to be too good to last. She couldn't realistically expect him to devote free mornings and afternoons and weekends to her forever. She teased him about his lack of a personal life, but she knew he did things outside of work. Well, presumably. She hadn't seen many signs of it aside from drinks some nights with the team or the occasional blind date Sam would set him up on, supposedly at 'Michelle's insistence'. Although, she realized, Sam hadn't set him up in months.

The thought wouldn't leave her alone once she'd had it, and so last week, the week before Granger's training session (and she could hardly admit to herself she still counted, but it was their 114th session), she'd asked him if he'd been on any dates recently.

"How can I," he'd laughed, after only the slightest hesitation, "when I spend all my time with you?" He had a point, it was past 8 on a Friday night and they were in the gym, probably the only two left in the building (Hetty had informed them they had to lock up, and told them not to stay too late, that they should get home and enjoy their weekend – and if it seemed there was more the older woman wanted to say, Nell figured that was her imagination).

Nell didn't actually know how to answer Callen's (perhaps rhetorical) question. Did he mean he wanted to date and couldn't? Or that he didn't want to because he preferred training with her instead? She settled for saying nothing.

Callen picked up on her unusual silence after a few minutes. She moved to hit him and wasn't even trying to connect. He decided to turn the tables on her. "What about you?"

"Nah, like you said, I spend most of my time here with you."

He wondered if it was his imagination that she sounded slightly wistful. He began to think he'd been monopolizing her and it wasn't fair, not when she should be going out and meeting people, maybe people she could – he stopped the train of thought before it could get too far.

He thought carefully about his next words. "I told Sam to stop," he offered, by way of explanation, since they both knew he'd gotten most of his dates (under protest) through Sam.

"He never listened to you before," she pointed out, as he grabbed her arm and trapped her against him. She twisted to look up at him, not attempting to escape, and he instantly let her go.

It was true. Sam and Michelle had steadfastly ignored him for years, tricking him into dates with any woman they thought might be halfway suitable for him. Repeated protests from him were routinely ignored, and yeah, he'd dated some of the women, even cared for a few, but none had become serious. He didn't know if he was capable of 'serious' with anyone. It had occurred to him more than once throughout his life that maybe he didn't _want _to be.

And then Nell had walked up to his desk seven months ago with a question. She'd changed his world without his consent – without him noticing, for the most part, until it was done. "You're the longest I've spent with one woman in nearly a decade," he said, as if it had just occurred to him.

She was surprised into a short burst of laughter. "That's a really sad commentary on your love life, Agent Callen." She went to get her water. They were hardly fighting anyway.

"Hmm, or maybe it says something extraordinary about you." His words were light humor, and her heart still skipped a beat.

She turned back to him, sipping her water and eyeing him curiously. They didn't avoid many things, but if there was one, it was talking about their relationship, especially in a context that could move it past friendship. She'd decided some time ago to force herself to think of them strictly as friends. As for what he thought? She had no clue. They'd occasionally tease each other playfully, and that was the extent of it.

He appeared to be deliberating over what he said next. "You're extraordinary in that you are incredibly patient in ways very few people are. Why else would you put up with me? Or _want _to stick around with me this long? I mean that in a non-romantic way, of course. This is _not_ workplace harassment."

"And here I thought _everything _you did to me was harassment," she said dryly, smile edging at the corners of her mouth. If he didn't want to play, she decided she may as well harass _him_. "Have I not been meeting your emotional needs, Agent Callen? I could set up some candles in here. Strew some flower petals around the gym for the next time we –"

She absolutely didn't yell in a high-pitched, girly way when he dove at her and they struggled. He wasn't playing and he wasn't going to let her win. She was too caught off-guard (laughing too much) to put up a fight. He pinned her down as payback for her comment and waited for her to acknowledge his win (it took longer than usual because it took her a minute to speak), then released her so they could take a breather before regrouping.

The gym had a completely different atmosphere that late in the evening. It was one of the nights where Callen only turned on the light at the far end. That meant the mat they were on was shrouded in darkness from one end of the room and bathed with light from the other. They sat right in the middle, where the darkness met the light. It turned their sparring area into a foggy kind of dimness that Callen called 'twilight'. He liked to practice in it to simulate more 'real world conditions'. Honestly, she wondered if he didn't look those things up online – or better still, make them up completely – because she'd never heard of Sam and Callen practicing in 'twilight' conditions or seen any other agents do it, for that matter.

(He'd tried to have them practice in pitch blackness once_. _He insisted it was good to learn how to move in the dark in case she ever got into a fight with someone at night. She'd argued pitch black wasn't 'night' but he'd switched off every light in the gym, and any hallways that could provide the slightest source of illumination. It was nighttime, and no light came in from the windows. It…hadn't gone well. Something about complete darkness had brought out a visceral fear she'd been unaware was left over from early childhood. She hadn't moved an inch between Callen switching off the lights and grabbing her. She knew it was him, she felt it was him – she would have known him anywhere, by then, after months of training with him – but she couldn't fight him, she couldn't _move_, not even to open her mouth and put an end to it. He knew, the moment he touched her arm, the way she'd been frozen, that something was wrong. Instead of fighting her, he'd instantly switched gears to pull her into his arms. He whispered into her hair that he was sorry, so sorry, before pulling her with him to turn the lights back on – and she'd only been able to walk because the alternative of waiting alone had been unthinkable. Later, she told him there was no trauma, no _anything_ to explain her reaction. They'd accepted it as an irrational fear they might never understand, and never attempted to practice that way again.)

"I like it here at night," she told him absently. "No people, no one upstairs that could interrupt, no pressing sense that a real world tragedy could happen that will require our attention at a moment's notice, even though I know it could. I like the quiet. No one else. Just us." She knew she might be rambling.

He echoed her all the same. "Just us."

"What changed?" She asked again, feeling like pushing it for some reason. "With Sam. The dates. You've told him to stop before and he never listened."

He leaned back, stretching his legs out before him. He'd forgotten he hadn't answered her question, or maybe he'd been hoping _she'd_ forget. "This time was different."

"Why?"

He glanced over, eyes tracing the line of her neck, down to her collarbone. The light from the other end of the room highlighted the edges of her, and he couldn't look away. "I meant it this time."

She waved her hand, silently encouraging him to elaborate. It was another silent 'why?' and he didn't think he could adequately explain. He'd do the best he could.

"I hate even the idea of it," he said. "Going out and finding someone, a random, faceless woman to try and be with? To try and make a _life_ with? Because that's the goal, you know? But it feels wrong in a way it never did before. Back then I'd protest and go through with the dates anyways and follow up with the women I had a vague connection with." He swallowed and made himself keep going. "The thought of doing that now, of being with a stranger who doesn't know me…it makes me feel sick." And it did, he couldn't imagine it.

"Really?" She knew he had no idea that he could have been explaining her own personal experiences with dating. She wanted to say more, ask more, and the words wouldn't make their way past her throat.

"It's like one day I woke up and realized I couldn't do it anymore." He hated that he sounded slightly frustrated, and lost. "I can't do it now," he repeated. It was the best explanation he could give her, right then.

He watched her nod slowly, the light following the lines of her body as she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, staring at the mat, apparently deep in thought. He figured she was done with their conversation until she said, quietly, "It's a good reason."

He'd already been stretched out; it wasn't hard to shift his foot over to tap her leg. He waited until she met his eyes. "Yeah, it is."

**XXXXXX**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Thanks for the feedback! It means everything.

**XXXXXX**

The strange memory of that night, talking with Callen about his personal life (or lack thereof) has stayed with Nell for the past six days. She wonders if she should have said more, pushed harder. Been braver. She can't find the boundary between what they are and what they might be – if she's imagining it or if it's really there. She can't pin down what he feels (if he even knows, or if he'd acknowledge it if he did – because there have been plenty of opportunities for him to tell her, and he never has).

At times, she thinks he's trying to tell her he doesn't want to be with _anyone_, ever. And that would be okay, he's entitled to want to be alone. She'd never begrudge anyone their happiness, especially not Callen, whom she feels is more deserving of it than those who've been carelessly happy their entire lives. He's certainly more deserving of happiness than her (she also knows he'd never agree with that thought, so she's never shared it with him).

What they are to each other is a question she's run around her mind in circles since…when? What had made her start questioning? Was it Georgia? Or had it happened before then – maybe after her session with Cameron, or did it go back near the beginning, when he told her about learning to protect himself as a foster kid? Further still, to their first session and beginning to trust him, or perhaps before their training had even begun? Had they seen something in each other and not consciously recognized it?

More than anything, she can't stand the thought of broaching the subject and being summarily dismissed. Though it's more likely he'd let her down easy, and they'd both swear their friendship wouldn't change, but it _would_, she knows that, and they'd end up distancing themselves from each other due to awkwardness or discomfort. She could lose _everything_ if she makes a wrong move, so she's found herself at an impasse where it's better to keep things as they are rather than risking the friendship they've found in each other.

She thinks she should learn to be more grateful for what she has and stop speculating about anything more. At least her introspection isn't causing her to miss much.

Granger and Callen are too evenly matched to be getting very far with each other. Nell always forgets how good Granger is because they don't have many opportunities to witness him in action. It's also easy to dismiss him since he's older, though she suspects Callen is being sharply reminded to never underestimate their boss.

Granger currently has an arm around Callen's neck and is encouraging him to get out of it with one of the new techniques, but Callen _didn't read the manual_ and has no idea what Granger wants him to do. Every time he makes a move, Granger informs him it's not what he's supposed to be 'demonstrating to the class'. Kensi and Deeks are offering increasingly unhelpful suggestions, and Callen's becoming more frustrated that he can't rely on any surprise maneuvers – he'd already agreed.

"You guys are not helping," Callen tells them harshly.

"This is not a _fight_, Agent Callen," Granger says, for probably the dozenth time. "It's a _demonstration_ from our new guidelines. I know you read them, right?" Everyone hears the mocking in his tone.

"Right," Callen manages to get out, "cover to cover. How else would I know how stupid they are?"

"I'm not surprised at your lack of discipline, how many times have I told you that our rules are in place for a reason?" Granger scolds him.

When Granger tightens his hold, Callen apparently decides he's had enough. He uses his free arm to elbow Granger around the solar plexus and takes advantage of his surprise to twist away. He thinks he should be commended for not resorting to any of the more painful methods he could have utilized to escape.

Granger is none too pleased. "You promised you'd help me demonstrate in a fair manner! As everyone can see on page 57, that is _not _what you're supposed to –"

"Owen!" Hetty appears out of nowhere to stem his impending lecture. "I hate to interrupt this very…enlightening demonstration, but we need to actually start evaluating. Unless you want everyone here until dinnertime."

It's an obvious out that she's given them, and it has the intended effect. Besides, Granger can't imagine the horror of spending an _entire day _with them. He goes to retrieve his papers while everyone retreats to their own mats.

Nell suppresses a sigh when Granger returns to her and Eric, first. "Jones and Beale, ready to put in some actual effort?"

She forces herself to concentrate and Eric (momentarily) overcomes his fears when his basic training kicks in, and they miraculously perform a few simple takedowns without incident (unless she counts his constant complaining as an 'incident'). Granger judges the two of them as 'adequate' – and is he actually checking things off on a clipboard? Fantastic.

"Sir, I can't help but think that I'm being unfairly judged based on Eric's reluctance and complaining. Mostly the complaining."

He doesn't look impressed. "I'm moving on, Jones."

Eric waits until Granger makes his way to Deeks and Kensi's mat, starting to explain the points system to them. "Nell, stop trying to blame me for everything."

"Then stop giving me things to blame you for!"

Eric takes another break (she suspects if she were keeping count, it'd be somewhere around his 15th) and Nell soon realizes that she's unhealthily distracted. She keeps glancing to where Callen and Sam are sparring (or more accurately, arguing about sparring). She knows exactly what's happening – the more she tells herself not to think about something, the more she thinks about it. She curses her unrelenting subconscious.

She moves closer to their mat in order to better overhear their conversation and doesn't notice when Eric returns. He grabs her to get her attention and she automatically twists her arm to force him to break his hold.

She spins around ready to apologize (she knows that move hurts) and he catches her off-guard by pushing her in petty retaliation – she doesn't expect it from him, though she supposes he deserves praise for surprising her twice, now. Things escalate quickly into – well, she can't even call it a fight so much as it's a shoving match, all sense of form forgotten as they deteriorate into a completely childish fight. It ends when he shoves her back with enough force that she stumbles onto the middle mat (she's equal parts irritated and impressed – who knew he had it in him!).

Unfortunately, he's pushed her right into Callen, who has braced himself for his partner – Sam's running at him, and Callen has better reflexes than Nell, because in the split second it takes her to realize she's going to get taken out, he pulls her down to the mat with him. When Sam sees that he doesn't have to stop short or try and divert, he decides to jump over them instead.

"Show-off," Callen tells his partner, as he and Nell get up.

"I could have been a hurdler in the 1996 Olympics," Sam informs them, and no one can tell if he's kidding. "What a time to tag in, Nell! Your attraction to danger tells me you've been spending too much time with Callen lately." He's joking – they're spending about the same excessive amount of time together as they did in the beginning.

Callen likes that description _way _too much. "Attracted to danger, huh? I can see that."

"I mean the situation, G." Sam rolls his eyes. "Why did Eric push you, Nell?"

Of course he saw that; he'd been facing them while Callen had his back to her. She looks over at Eric who had retreated to the far side of the mat the second he realized what he'd done. "We got carried away," she covers for him. Besides, she might share _some _of the blame for the petty fight they'd just had as if they were elementary school students.

Callen sends her an arch look, not quite believing her. He keeps his mouth shut, though.

"This is how people get hurt," Granger says as he walks over. He'd witnessed the entire ridiculous scene. "I'm giving everyone an X for this round. Zero points."

"Sounds good to me, at least we're not in the negative. Yet." Sam slaps his partner on the shoulder and strolls off for a drink.

"X for excellent," Callen agrees as Granger waves his clipboard in a vague, wordless threat and then goes back to the bench. Nell's about to follow him when Callen stops her (he feels like he's always trying to stop her from walking away). "What was that?" They both know he's referring to her fight with Eric.

"Nothing," she says, as impressive a liar as always. The difference is he can read her now, and he tries to think back to a time when he hadn't been able to recognize the slight furrow in her brow when she lied, or the way she fidgeted with her hands when she was nervous. It's hard to remember that he hasn't always known her this way.

"Right, nothing." He lets it go. She doesn't have to tell him everything. There are plenty of things he's better off _not _knowing, he's sure.

"Thanks for the save," she adds, as a dismissal.

His voice lowers to a quiet, burning intensity, and he must not know that alone would keep her there, since he grips her arm, too. "You don't _ever_ thank me for saving you."

She has no idea if that's supposed to be his way of saying 'no problem', or if it's a promise, or if it's some kind of weird threat. It sure _sounds_ like a threat, but it doesn't feel like one in the slightest.

She goes with the craziest option at hand to respond to him, obviously (he'd taught her well). "And why not? _Thanks _for saving me. Agent Callen." She throws on his name at the end because she knows how much it irritates him when they argue. He hates the idea of her deferring to him because he outranks her, even when he knows she means it mockingly.

His hand tightens imperceptibly on her forearm and his eyes darken. At first she thinks it might be anger, until she looks closer and realizes that no matter how well she knows him now, there are still parts of him she doesn't know at _all_.

It's exciting…in a terrifying kind of way.

He blinks and the look in his eyes vanishes, the moment gone. She slips her arm out of his suddenly lax hold.

He desperately wishes he could read her thoughts. He remembers the many times she's _told _him what she was thinking. He'd found it easier to share stories than feelings; she's never had that problem. He doesn't think there's a story she's ever told that hasn't included her descriptions of how it made her feel.

She doesn't seem to mind when there are things he can't say; sometimes, she seems to know how he feels without him ever saying a word.

They'd gone to his sister's grave, somewhere between sessions 73 and 74. It wasn't planned that way. It had been an afternoon where they'd called it quits early after wrapping up a case, the sun still shining brightly. It felt unnatural to leave work in the early afternoon.

She'd asked him if he wanted to train with her, and he did, but he couldn't. He told her why – he'd been planning to visit his sister that day.

He hadn't invited her. It had been on the tip of his tongue to do so, but he held back at the last minute, worried she'd find it odd or morbid. He didn't know how she knew; perhaps they could reach each other that well by then. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the way he lingered in the hallway afterward, as the others had rushed out, no one wanting to waste a precious minute of free time.

"We can do that," she'd said, including herself automatically as she walked ahead of him to his car.

He waited to feel taken aback or upset that she'd invited herself along on what was supposed to be a personal visit – except the feelings never came.

If there was anything he still kept to himself at that point, it was his memories of Amy. Mostly because there wasn't much to say: he and his sister hadn't been together long enough for there to be much worth telling.

Thoughts of his sister hurt because they always reminded him of the 'what ifs?' The dream of a life he could have had, should have had, with her in it – it hurt more to think of the way that life had been stolen from him than it did to remember nearly dying.

Before that day, he hadn't known if it was necessary to tell Nell any of it. Not because he didn't want to, but because she seemed to understand the careful way he talked around the subject of his sister. She seemed to _know_. He'd suspected long before, and their visit that day confirmed that she'd heard the things he never said out loud.

He knelt in front of Amy's tombstone and tried not to think of what might have been. He'd accepted her death long ago; that didn't mean he'd accepted the circumstances, or his own guilt over the matter, no matter how much he wished he could. More than anything, the grave marked where his memories of her rested, a monument to the girl he remembered as beauty and light.

Nell waited a few feet away, studying gravestones and giving him privacy to talk to his sister. She had a stray thought of Callen trying to teach her to fight in a graveyard and couldn't help her slight laughter.

Callen stood up from where he'd been kneeling and turned to her, keeping his face as blank as he could. "Cemeteries are amusing, huh?"

He regretted his words the second the mirth left her eyes, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to explain, "No! I'm not…that's not –"

He couldn't keep it up; he went to great lengths to avoid erasing her smile, and that had been a rare misstep. "I'm kidding, Nell."

Her expression cleared and she hit him on the arm. "That's not funny."

He absently rubbed his arm; it didn't actually hurt. "What were you laughing at?"

"It's…" she shook her head in amusement. "Sorry, I can't help picturing you explaining the best ways to fight someone in a graveyard."

His mind spun over the possibilities. "Slam their head into a gravestone," he suggested. "You could also break someone's back if you bent them the right way over it. Enough pressure and…" he snapped his fingers.

She automatically winced. "That's a lovely image, thanks."

"What do I say? Fighting can –"

"– Kill you. Yes, I know. Besides, how do you think I'd be strong enough to do that?"

"You're right, you might have to go another way." He pretended to think about it. "Do you know any summoning spells to call forth the dead?"

"Zombies. That's your suggestion." She decided to play along. "Alright, in this completely realistic scenario where I'm being chased through a graveyard and conveniently have knowledge of supernatural spells _and _enough time to perform them to bring forth zombies to help me face my attacker…what's to stop the zombies from coming after me, too?"

He sounded distinctly amused. "I didn't say it was foolproof. You know how to run, don't you?"

"Couldn't I have run in the first place? Before the spells and the zombies?"

"Yeah. That would have made the most sense." Truthfully, they'd been over real-life scenarios dozens of times. He always stressed that her best option when facing an opponent that outmatched her was to run and hide, if possible. At that point in her training, he made sure that she knew she should only engage someone if she had no chance of escape. (They'd had their fair share of 'practice drills' through NCIS's headquarters, and he almost always caught her – that one time she'd tried to hide behind Granger had been a particularly poor choice.)

"I'm sorry I brought it up," she said, though she wasn't. He kept her entertained. She sank onto the perfectly manicured grass, sensing he wanted to stay for a little bit. "It's quiet out here today."

He sat next to her. "Well, yeah, we don't know any summoning spells." Off her look, he laughed. "If you're looking for excitement, you're not going to find it in a graveyard. They always remind me of Halloween."

"Who hasn't spent at least one drunken Halloween in a graveyard, right?" From the look Callen sent her, she figured she might have to reevaluate.

"At _least _one? There was more than one?"

"High school was a trying time," she argued.

"I don't know," he sent her an approving glance, "sounds like you had it figured out."

He clearly wanted more information and she wasn't going to indulge him. "_Anyways_, I thought I had the best costumes as a kid, though looking back, I see I was particularly unimaginative. I went as a nurse, a witch, a bride –"

"A bride?" He couldn't help himself. "I would have expected you'd dress up as a teacher or a scientist." He thought about the stories she'd told of her parents' deep involvement in her education. "From the way you turned out, I would have thought your parents encouraged you to dress up as a NASA engineer."

"Nope, they let me do what I wanted, and I wanted girly costumes all the way. I think I went as a 'princess' for three years in a row during middle school."

It went against everything he imagined her being as a child, and he liked it. He liked her parents for letting her do what she wanted as she grew up, and supporting her in the same way as an adult. Not everyone was that lucky.

"You should go visit your parents," he told her.

"I will, maybe around the holidays. Don't worry, we skype as much as they're able to get ahold of me. My mom says you take up too much of my time, by the way."

He didn't fight the accusation. It was true. "Tell her I'm sorry, but she can't have you back."

"Don't worry, my parents have their hobbies and grandkids and a myriad of other things to fill their time. My mom has her scrapbooking and this annoying habit of sending me memory books of my childhood. I keep telling her to stop, I mean why do I need…" She stopped talking when it struck her that Callen must not have many pictures from his childhood, and she felt incredibly selfish to be complaining about having so many that her mother made entire _books _of them.

His thoughts had gone a much different way. "I'm going to get some of those pictures of you."

"You won't have to try that hard, one word and my mom will send you plenty." She somehow knew he was going to do it because of her suggestion.

"She better include Halloween pictures," he teased.

They lapsed into silence, and a sort of melancholy must have overcome Callen when he said next, "Aren't these places sad? I feel like if you're here, you _have _to be sad, even if you're trying to remember things that are happy."

It reminded her of a recent conversation. "The other day, my mom told me something really sad," she began, unsure if she should go on.

Callen was surprised; her stories were almost never sad. He waved at her to continue.

"She was looking through pictures of us from when we were kids. She was holding this one of me at age 5 on Halloween. I was a cheerleader."

That struck him as adorable. He tried to imagine 5-year-old Nell cheering in exchange for Halloween candy at every house. "I can see that."

"I had pompoms and everything, it was great. I thought she was going to talk about how much fun we had that year." She bit her lip and glanced away. "Instead she told me that growing up…it's like dying in a way."

He tilted his head, not getting it, and she didn't blame him.

"She knows I'm here, I'm an adult and I live my life far away from her; she can still see me and talk to me. But the little girl in the picture, the 5-year-old me running around making up cheers about candy on Halloween? She doesn't exist anymore. In a way, my mom said, the little girl that I used to be…she's gone." Nell remembered the unusual sadness that had surrounded her mother as she spoke. "She wasn't trying to say it's like losing a child or…anything like that. She meant that, at times, she would look at our pictures and think of us as kids and get really sad that those kids aren't here anymore."

Callen thought of the few images he had of his sister. "They're just…gone."

She pulled at a blade of grass, not daring to look at him. "Yeah. And it kind of upset me, because I'm not gone, you know? But I saw where she was coming from and what she meant. I told her to look at our pictures and be happy about them, not dwell on how the moments are long gone. I mean, isn't that the point of most pictures? To remember the happy times? What's the point of going through them and being sad?"

He didn't say anything.

She knew he could take her story as sounding really selfish and it was the last thing she wanted. She hadn't meant it that way. She didn't know how to tell him that the only thing she wanted for him was happiness. The sadness that surrounded him when he spoke about Amy, remembered her, it was understandable, but she knew part of it came from unfairly punishing himself. She wished he could forgive himself for things he hadn't caused, and things he could never change. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to…"

"No, you don't have to apologize for trying to make me feel better. I know what you mean."

She smiled at him, faintly. "I know what you mean, too." At his puzzled look, she added, "When you talk about Amy – or rather, don't talk about her. From the few things you've said, I know, Callen. And it's okay."

"What do you know?" He challenged, because she couldn't possibly –

"I know that when you think of her, you miss the _idea _of her more than anything. You miss the life you should have had and you think that makes you selfish, and you hate yourself for it. You shouldn't."

How had she pieced that together from the few things he'd told her? Either he'd said more than he meant to, or she read him better than he thought was possible. He didn't bother denying it. "What kind of person can feel that way, Nell? Every time I think of her, I find myself thinking about a life where it might have been different. It becomes about _me _when it should be about _her_ –"

"There's nothing wrong with it, with _you_." She leaned closer, not daring to touch him. "It's normal to feel that way. You loved her as a child, you love who she was, but she was gone from you long before she died. It's _okay _to miss the life you should have had. The fact is, you didn't get to grow up with her and learn to know her – and love her – as a person outside of a few childhood memories. You have a _right _to miss that. You didn't get a chance." She looked over at Amy's headstone. "Neither of you got a chance."

"It's not okay," he insisted.

"The situation? No, it's not. How you feel? Yes, it is." She spoke with such conviction that he was tempted to believe her.

His guilt wouldn't allow him to do so. "Nell, it's not that easy –"

"I think Amy would agree with me," she interrupted, unable to stand listening to him try and argue his way out of it. She knew she was being presumptuous, but she needed him to seriously think about everything she'd said.

"You know Amy now?" His voice changed instantly, became sharp and disapproving.

"No." She felt her face burn at his tone, as if she had no right to use his sister. Maybe she didn't, and if she hadn't felt as strongly as she did, she never would have dared. She also knew what he was trying to do, and she wouldn't be dissuaded. "What I know is…if she was even one-tenth like you, I can't imagine her ever wanting her brother to hate himself because of circumstances that were out of his control – circumstances of which _you _were a victim as much as she was. I can't imagine her resenting you for wishing that you'd had the chance to love her the way you _would_ have, if your lives were different. I don't think she'd want you to –"

He abruptly got to his feet, staring down at his sister's gravestone.

"– be unhappy whenever you thought of her," Nell finished quietly, as she stood up behind him.

He couldn't look at her, not when he wanted to lash out for what she'd said. It wasn't her fault for picking up on his thoughts, and it wasn't her fault for disagreeing with them. He wouldn't take his anger out on her.

He thought of Amy, the brilliant, smiling girl in his handful of memories. Giggling and playing together when they had nothing to worry about in the entire world. One thought had always haunted him – which memories were real? Which ones had he imagined? Which ones did he only _think_ he remembered, when they'd been from a video reel? How much of her had he really _known_, at all?

He tried to picture her scolding him, hating him for the way he felt. He couldn't. What he knew of that girl was too happy, too good; she'd never been marked by the world the way a person did when they were forced to grow up in it. The irony of it was she'd been cruelly taken from it too soon to truly recognize how cruel the world was.

He glanced over to find Nell slowly inching farther away, moving down the row of gravestones as if she were about to make her escape any minute. He might have hated what she said, calling him out on one of his greatest shames, but he also knew that his reaction had everything to do with him and nothing to do with her. Once he recognized the true source of his anger, it slowly evaporated.

She was right.

"Nell," he spoke softly, as if to not break the spell of their surroundings.

She stopped her progress and slowly walked back over. "Yeah?" She sounded hopeful, and a little wary.

He tapped the back of her hand with the back of his, and she recognized the silent apology.

He might not have known Amy the way he wanted, but there were a few things he did know – that he had complete confidence in.

"My sister would have liked you."

She inhaled sharply, twisting her hand around so she could grasp his before he pulled away, threading their fingers together. She knew there was more he hadn't said, more he might not ever say. That was alright.

"I would have liked her, too."

**XXXXXX**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I'm having so much fun with this story, and I'm glad others are enjoying it, too!

**XXXXXX**

Eric's equal parts frustrated and annoyed. He shouldn't have to be here in the first place, and now that he is, Nell can't be bothered to spend more than ten minutes with him at a time.

Granted, this latest time _might _have been partly his fault thanks to their fight. However, it's been long enough that she should have returned to their mat, and she's still over there chatting – or whatever – with Callen. Are they connected by magnets or something?

It's nothing new – get them close enough and they're reluctant to separate.

Eric realizes he's going to have to go over there to get her back (and he's kind of afraid to do so).

He approaches cautiously, ever wary of her retaliation. "Hate to interrupt, guys, but Nell…are you coming back?"

"I don't know," she answers, turning to him. "After all, _you're_ the one who pushed me over here in the first place."

Obviously she'd bring that up. Can't she let bygones be bygones? It happened like fifteen minutes ago! "Uh…that was gravity." He wants to add that he's not technically wrong – every time he loses her, he knows exactly where to find her again, and it's _not _because he's pushing her away every time.

"I thought while I was here, I'd give Callen some much-needed pointers."

Eric has no idea why she does that, or rather, why both of them do it. Haven't they learned that provoking each other usually leads to –

Callen shifts slightly behind Nell, and it could be a hint he's going for her or it could be nothing of the sort. She doesn't waste time, abruptly spinning, both of her arms coming up to protect herself…from nothing. Callen automatically puts an arm up to block whatever she might be thinking of doing, and she drops her hands onto his arm. She's fast, but he matches her more often than not. Neither of them move any further, and Eric lets out a breath once he realizes they're not going to try and kill each other. This time.

Callen nods in satisfaction and says, "Maybe teach Eric about the element of surprise. If you can."

She lets go of him and steps back. "Is that gibe for me or him?"

Callen acts as if he's thinking about it. "Yes."

Eric considers, for three seconds, going after one of them, how amazing it would feel to take Callen or Nell by surprise. He thinks if he practiced enough, he'd definitely have a chance. He's simply never considered it important. The best he can do is sound as acerbic as possible when he asks, "How much more of my time are you going to waste?"

They turn to him at the same time, and he rethinks his strategy.

"Maybe Nell isn't the best to help you today," Callen suggests. "I'd be more than happy to switch."

Eric finds that preferable. "I can work with Sam."

"Not Sam," Callen corrects him, slightly menacing. "I meant me."

Oh no, that is _not _preferable. "Uh…"

"You won't switch to help me, but you'll switch to make a point to Eric?" Nell demands of Callen, as if he's capable of giving any answer that would get him out of that bind.

Callen and Eric are both saved by Granger, and the expression on their assistant director's face is considerably displeased. "Can I get you three some drinks? Because clearly it's happy hour."

"I'll take a –"

"Finish that sentence, Agent Callen."

In a rare show of self-control, Callen shuts his mouth, though he still looks too amused as far as Granger is concerned.

Nell quickly links her arm with Eric's to pull him back to their mat. She hopes Granger will stay behind with Callen, and inwardly groans when he follows them.

"How's it going?" Granger asks, and then answers his own question before she or Eric can reply. "Because by my estimate, we've been here for nearly an hour and I think you've spent 5 minutes of that sparring."

"Sorry, sir," Nell says, catching Callen out of the corner of her eye, pretending like he's not listening to them. "Agent Callen keeps distracting us." It's her petty revenge because he can't say anything without revealing he's eavesdropping.

"'Us'?" Eric grumbles, "Try _you_."

"Don't think that I don't know you're equally culpable, Jones."

She knows her protests will fall on deaf ears. "I'm innocent!"

"Demonstrate something from the new manual," Granger orders, jabbing his pen against his clipboard.

"You know it's the 21st century and we have things like tablets now," Eric ventures. "If you want me to help you upgrade."

Granger only taps his pen harder and Nell hopes for an escape. Alas, Deeks and Kensi are actually getting along and thus provide no opportunistic distractions.

Eric refuses to perform under this kind of pressure, and leans down to grab his calf. "Ow! Um, I have a muscle cramp." He limps backwards and then flees to the bench where Hetty's been watching them for most of the morning.

"Interesting how he got a cramp despite _barely doing anything today_!" Granger makes sure to raise his voice by the end so Eric can hear him. He looks back at Nell, his closest target. "He was fine earlier, and now he's afraid again? What's the deal?"

"You know how Eric is; I'm trying to warm him up. He's a little nervous about attempting anything new while being graded." And really, where's the sympathy for her? Granger had knowingly let her be paired up with him – the way the morning was going couldn't have been a surprise to anyone.

Granger doesn't seem to care about her plight and his impatience starts to show. "I thought, out of everyone, that you'd be the best to handle him. I guess I was wrong and you're not capable."

She knows he's frustrated, but the unfairness of the accusation stings. What does he expect as a defense? "I'm trying, sir, I'll go talk to him again –"

"Since you're having so much trouble doing your job today, should I find someone else to do it for you?"

She opens her mouth and then shuts it again. She can't let it go. "Sir, I am not responsible for Eric's actions."

It's not what Granger wants to hear, but before he can say anything more, Callen scoffs from behind them. It's no accident that he's drawn Granger's attention – everyone knows the assistant director would rather harass Callen than Nell.

"Do you have something to say, Agent Callen?"

"Actually, yes." He holds up the manual. "I have a _lot_ of things to say about this horrible book."

Granger forgets about Nell and goes over to Callen. At that moment, as if by magic, Eric reappears next to Nell, muscle cramp miraculously gone the second Granger walks away. "Is there any grenade Callen won't fall on for you? First volunteering to assist Granger, and now this?"

She watches the two men start arguing over the merits of the new guidelines. "Don't give him too much credit," she deflects, even as she's thinking up ways to thank him later. "He likes antagonizing Granger way too much."

She and Eric practice some basic blocks for a few minutes. Nell's more focused on listening to the argument going on several feet away, and she's relieved when Hetty gets Granger's attention and pulls him back to the sidelines.

Nell suggests stepping things up, and Eric gets nervous again. He'd watched her take on Callen earlier (and plenty of other times) and knows he can't deal with her on that level. "I'm willing to try," he says, reluctantly, "but I saw you and Callen. I'm not made for that."

Sam unexpectedly backs him up, as he walks by to return to his own mat. "No one's made for it. Callen's just crazy, and he took her along with him." His pronouncement is similar to the things they've been hearing about themselves for months now.

"I can think of another word –" Deeks can't finish because Kensi dives for him.

"You're absolutely right, Deeks," Callen says, ignoring the other man's cries for help when Kensi pins him awkwardly. "I'm _unconventional_."

"And crazy," Kensi adds.

"Unique," Callen argues.

"Crazy," Sam repeats.

Callen narrows his eyes at them. "Dangerous."

"That one I'll agree with," Eric says. "What about you, Nell? Best word to describe Callen."

She's caught off-guard and suddenly everyone's looking at her, curious about her answer. She sifts through a dozen words that could describe him, his loyalty to his friends, his desire to help others. She has nothing. "I don't think that there is one."

"What does that mean?" Eric asks. "You can't think of anything positive? I don't blame you."

Deeks manages to throw Kensi off of him. "The word you're trying to think of is 'insufferable'," he suggests.

"No, still going with 'crazy'," Kensi laughs, as she gets to her feet. She has to quickly jump away when Callen pretends to lunge for her.

Nell shakes her head. She knows they're messing with her, but if there's even the slightest doubt about what she thinks of Callen… She tries her best to hide her discomfort, wondering why she's answering Eric's question – or worse, why she chooses to answer by facing Callen. "There's no word I can think of that describes all the things you are to everyone who knows you. Nothing that…does you justice."

The tension in their area of the room ratchets up several notches; no one knows what to say. Callen has to help her out of the truly uncomfortable spot Eric's put her in. He throws his arm around her shoulders, hugging her and deliberately messing up her hair affectionately. "No one can beat you for sweetness, Nell Jones, that's for sure."

She ducks away, appearing exasperated, though he can see her unspoken gratitude in the way she looks at him while everyone imperceptibly relaxes.

He's successfully defused the moment, but her words stick with him. She'd forged ahead through her discomfort to answer Eric, and why? He suspects it's because her answer had been one she wanted him to hear.

Granger walks over to break up their circle. He doesn't have to say a word for them to scatter. He should have known the best he could hope for was that they took today's training _semi-seriously_.

He uses Kensi in his demonstration this time for one of the new techniques and then directs them to the corresponding page in the manual.

"What is this supposed to be a picture of?" Sam asks, studying the page to try and discern what the figures are doing. The illustrations don't seem to match Granger and Kensi's demonstration. "Is this guy kicking him in the stomach? Which one is the suspect? Why aren't there videos of this?"

Callen silently hates his partner as Granger considers that. "We thought in-person demonstrations were best, but you're right, Sam. I'll pass it up the chain and hopefully we can get some better materials in here. I think this manual would have…oh, four hours of demonstrations? Maybe five?"

Everyone groans at the thought of Granger forcing them to watch every minute, probably replaying each scene more than once out of spite.

"Relax," Sam tries to reassure everyone, "with the rate our bureaucracy moves, those videos wouldn't be produced for at least three years."

Granger hears that, too. "Unless you six want to film them for practical purposes?"

"I could be a _star_," Deeks says, somewhat dreamily.

"I'd be willing to lead that video," Callen declares. "I guarantee _my _tips to improve upon the new guidelines would be the most helpful."

"Perfect," Eric adds. "You can get my demise on camera for when my family sues NCIS for my wrongful death." Granger shoots him a stern glance and Eric nervously backtracks. "Not that, uh, they ever would. You guys paying for my funeral expenses should be enough."

Callen's not a fan of anything in the new manual, and he's been making it clear all day. "Where's the page that shows me how to push a suspect off the roof?" He notices Granger's glare. "I'm kidding, obviously – no one needs instructions on how to do that, it's as simple as…" He reaches over and pushes Sam backwards. Sam dramatically flails as if he's going over the edge of a rooftop and then falls to the mat.

Deeks gives them a hearty round of applause. "I love it, guys. If I'm directing this video, may I say, could I see a little more horror in your eyes, Sam? Maybe shout some terrorist propaganda on the way down? Now Callen, your performance was nicely understated. I hate to admit I was impressed."

Granger decides he'll try ignoring them and see how long it takes for them to get back on track. That means it's Hetty whistling from the sidelines that breaks them up this time. "I want to see more practicing and less theater rehearsal," she demands.

Deeks and Kensi return to general sparring, though they aren't getting very far with each other and Kensi begins to consider alternate means of gaining the upper hand.

She hears Sam and Callen arguing over the best way to incapacitate a suspect without injuring him (needless to say, their methods don't coincide with the manual's).

"Nice move, Callen!" She cheers, when he turns another page. Deeks looks over to see what happened, and she rushes him, easily taking him down. As she gets up, she calls it as a point for herself.

"That's not fair, you distracted me," Deeks complains, sitting up.

"I'm sure I saw it in the manual. Distraction is key to many of the recommended takedowns."

"Is that true, Callen?" Deeks asks.

Callen flips back and forth through the book. "Uh…I don't…" They can't possibly think he's read it.

"Any time today." Kensi sounds impatient at being denied her victory.

"Sure, it's definitely in here," Callen relents.

"Liar, I read that cover to cover," Deeks says, which is in itself a lie. "That hit was unfair."

Sam knows they have to settle this before Deeks sulks too much and decides to stop participating altogether. "Fine, I'll ask for a ruling. Nell?"

Deeks scrambles to his feet. "You're asking her? That's almost as bad as asking Callen! We all know she's been corrupted."

Nell quells him with a single look. "Yes, that will definitely get me to rule in your favor."

"I'm sorry," Deeks implores. "You are the queen of all that is fair and just in our world."

"Apology accepted. I'll rule Kensi's hit unfair –" Deeks starts clapping enthusiastically, "– but she still won that round, didn't she? You want to win, Deeks? Stop complaining and be unfair back."

"We're supposed to be following the rules today," Deeks points out, though he knows he shouldn't be surprised. "Besides, you _would _say that. Your favorite method is to go after people when they're not looking."

"And was Kensi playing fair when she hit you just now?" Nell challenges. "Of course not. Man up, Deeks. You can do it."

"I don't think I like it when you give advice," Kensi says to Nell, crossing her arms. Her gaze skips over to Callen and she adds, "At least, not anymore."

"It's not only a valid strategy, it's _necessary _when fighting," Callen points out, which is a fact everyone in the room knows. The problem is they disagree on when to use those strategies - Callen's always favored incorporating them more into standard training; Granger and some other agents disagree.

Working their way up to surprise attacks had taken Callen and Nell a few months. It was around late August, when their sessions had numbered in the 30's, that Callen had presented the idea of expanding their training beyond the confines of sessions in the gym.

And by 'presented the idea', she meant that one moment she'd been walking down the hall at work, focused on her tablet, and the next moment she'd been pinned against the wall and staring in shock at Callen pressed up against her. The impact only surprised her, not hurting in the slightest (it took her a long time to learn that ability from him).

He eased back, but she was still held in place with one of his arms pressing against her collarbone. "Your situational awareness needs drastic improvement, Nell."

"My awareness was fine until three seconds ago."

"When you were walking along, focused on this." He waved her tablet at her with his free hand; she hadn't even realized he took it. "What if I were an unknown assailant, huh? What would you do then?"

"An assailant. Here. At work." She deliberately looked around at the nearly empty room. A few people nearby had glanced over at the first commotion, and then gone back to ignoring them. "Nice to know I can count on you guys for help," she called, and they pretended not to hear that, too. She figured it was more that they didn't want to deal with Callen than anything else.

"Anyone can be a threat _anywhere_."

Was he kidding? "Yeah, I think you're effectively proving that."

He wasn't even slightly offended – they both knew he was probably the safest person in the world for her to be with. "Do you want to learn or not?"

"You know, normal people say 'hi' to their co-workers if they walk by them."

As if to prove her point, Agent Will Cameron walked by and politely said hello before adding, "Next time go for his eyes, Nell. That'll discourage this kind of behavior."

"Do you mind?" Callen bristled. "We're having a teachable moment here."

"Eyes, Nell," Cameron repeated, slowly backing away down the hall. "Then maybe he'll let go of you."

Callen abruptly realized that he was still holding her against the wall and backed off a few steps. Why hadn't she said anything?

"Will has a point," Nell said.

"Cameron never has a point, unless it's to be as _annoying as possible_," Callen loudly directed the last part at the other man, who was still in sight toward the end of the hall.

"Annoying like 'throwing my co-workers against the walls' annoying?" Cameron yelled back, before disappearing around a corner.

"It's a teachable – oh never mind," Callen gave up. "What does he do around here, again?"

"We've worked together a few times," Nell reminded him. "He helped us with that bank robbery last month."

Callen did remember. Cameron had actually been helpful, much to Callen's shock. "We could've solved it without him."

"Besides," she started up the stairs as he trailed after her, "I think he's right. Going for your eyes _would _discourage you."

"Jeez, Nell," he said, exasperated, as they walked into Ops, "you almost make it sound like you don't want me attacking you in the hallways!"

They were met with six curious stares from the agents in the room.

"Do I want to know?" Eric asked, as everyone looked at them, and when neither of them answered, he took it as a no. He was learning to always take it as a no.

Nell had been skeptical of Callen at first, but she had to admit, after a few weeks of trying to surprise each other, it definitely helped her. She was more aware of her surroundings, had quicker reaction times, and was able to keep her composure in startling situations. The first time she'd managed to successfully surprise _him_? She swore the elation hadn't left her for days.

After awhile, they agreed to stop going after each other outside of training unless one of them felt like brushing up on their skills for an occasional day here and there. He told her it was because he'd seen her improvement and constant vigilance was no longer necessary; it wasn't going to help her more than it already had. Truthfully, he'd noticed that she was always on guard around him, and it was fine if they were sparring, but he hated the thought of her never being able to relax with him.

A result of their unusual approach to training means they're far more likely than the others to incorporate those strategies into their sparring sessions.

Despite Deeks' unhappiness at her semi-lecture, he can attest to the effectiveness of Callen and Nell's…interesting methods. He's watched them together – everyone has. He can see how well they move and the ways they still surprise each other after seven months of training. He wonders if he should adopt their strategy. Maybe he's too focused on the rules – Kensi never has much trouble breaking them, in any case. "I'll try it your way."

"Exactly," Callen says, feeling vindicated. "Adopt our methods and you'll learn how to never let your guard down, gain a unique advantage, and always be prepared."

Sam has to weigh in on Callen and Nell's 'strategy'. He knows why they do it, but he still has to point out the obvious. "You realize you can work on those things _without _going for each other when your partner's back is turned?"

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Nell asks. "Besides, Callen's been getting a bit…slow lately."

Callen immediately starts planning his retaliation and warns, "Careful, Nell, your true nature's shining through."

"My kind, loving, caring nature?"

"Yup. That's it." He winks at her.

Everyone's startled when Kensi yells in frustration after Deeks manages to pin her while she's been distracted by the conversation. "That's how it's _done_," he cheers.

"Oh my God." Eric's face drains of any color it had left – Deeks had done some kind of weird flip and spin maneuver, and Eric doesn't know how Kensi hasn't broken every bone in her body. Nell grabs hold of his arm before he can think about running.

"Back to practicing!" She says, sounding (in Eric's opinion) almost sadistically cheerful.

Callen's been debating a surprise attack on Nell, and briefly considers putting it off because it might propel Eric to a full nervous breakdown. Then he thinks, screw it, Eric needs to learn. He grabs Nell from behind (ironically, as she's in the middle of lecturing Eric on how safe he is while using all the new techniques) and wraps one arm around her mid-section, the other around her throat.

"What was that about safety?" He asks, when she freezes. She hadn't expected it because Granger is standing right there, and she hadn't thought Callen was that reckless. It's also why she holds off on retaliating.

Granger says nothing.

"Could you discipline him or something?" Nell asks, in dismay. She ignores Callen's laughter in her ear.

Between Eric's skittishness and Callen's desire to rattle her as much as possible, how is she ever going to get anything done around here?

"Sorry, Jones," Granger sounds almost smug. "You're always advocating this method of fighting. Why don't you figure it out yourself?"

Then he _walks away_.

"My hatred keeps growing," she mutters.

"For me or Granger?" Callen asks. His hold hasn't lessened in the slightest.

"Yes," she bites out, echoing his answer from earlier.

"Do you need help?" Eric asks tentatively, as if he'd be anything of the sort.

"Sure, how would you get out of this situation, Eric?" She asks pleasantly, and she can sense Callen's building frustration at her not trying to get away from him.

"I'd shoot him."

"Hey, an answer I actually approve of, how about that?" Callen sounds mildly impressed. He's also getting more confused over Nell's reaction – or rather, lack of one. "Any time today, Nell."

She's been trying to determine the best course of action, and settles on the last he'd expect: she won't fight back. She ignores the instincts telling her the best ways to lash out and get the upper hand on him. If she stops imagining this as an aggressive move on his part…she lets her arms go slack and twists her head to face him, as if she's entirely unconcerned. "I'm trying to teach, Agent Callen. You are getting in the way of that, so I'll wait you out all day."

"You're not going to try to get away?" He thinks it's a trick, even as his hand slides away from her neck to land on her shoulder. "Or you don't know how?"

"We both know that I know how."

She leans back against him, and the way that she trusts him implicitly…it reminds him of another place and time.

It reminds him of their trip to Georgia.

**XXXXXX**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Chapter 5 is a) the halfway point b) what happened in Georgia c) my favorite chapter d) longer than I planned, but it didn't make sense to split it when the entire chapter is about one trip.

Guest 1 – If you don't like Cameron now…

Guest 2 & everyone else – As always, I really appreciate your feedback!

**XXXXXX**

Three months earlier, they'd been working a weapons trafficking case and found evidence that might implicate a high-ranking U.S. Senator. Over the course of their investigation, Nell received some encrypted emails from a conspiracy theorist by the name of Reynolds, claiming to have proof of Senator Braxton's involvement in the case; Reynolds used to work for him. He agreed to talk further and hand over his evidence, but only if they (specifically, Nell) met him in person.

_Of course_, Reynolds lived in a shack in the middle of the woods in rural Georgia. And he refused to travel.

After much debate, Hetty had decided their best course of action was to meet him – while he was an unusual character, nothing in his past indicated he was dangerous. Nell gladly volunteered for the trip and Hetty didn't need to be convinced. In addition to Reynolds only trusting Nell, Hetty was of the opinion that Nell had earned the right to follow the case through until the end.

Hetty informed Callen he'd have to accompany Nell, and he'd tried everything possible to shelve the trip altogether. He seemed to be the only one considering the real risks of meeting a potentially unstable person when they were representatives of the government Reynolds proclaimed to hate and distrust. Despite his arguments, Hetty and Nell wouldn't be swayed, to the point that they convinced Granger their plan was the only course of action available.

Callen ignored Granger's orders, as he loved to do, and kept protesting until Hetty played her trump card: Nell was going whether he went or not. Hetty would just send a different agent along with her. He remembered her tossing the name Will Cameron around.

That had sealed it for Callen, because if Nell was determined to go, there was no way she was going without him.

Hetty had been pleased at the arrangement – it would be good for Nell to get out into the field, and she also knew, of the possible agents she could send, Callen was the most invested in her safety. Truthfully, Hetty hadn't envisioned any scenario where he would allow anyone else to go with Nell. On the flip side, he was one of the best at staying level-headed in high pressure situations – for the most part. She knew if things got out of hand, Nell could generally keep him from getting into _too_ much trouble.

A few days later they were in Georgia, and had managed to find the only motel within the remote vicinity of Reynolds' home, 40 miles outside of Atlanta – or as Callen called it, the middle of nowhere.

"No place can be 'nowhere'," Nell informed him, as they got out of the car. "Since every place is, in effect, somewhere."

"Can't you ever just agree with what I say?"

She didn't have to think about it. "No."

The Pine Gables Motel had definitely seen better days. It was two stories and badly in need of a paint job. The forest closed in on the motel from three sides, as if eager to overtake it, and the short road the motel was on led to a few general stores and shops in the town center. Houses were scattered few and far between.

"There are no actual gables," Nell remarked, sounding disappointed.

"That's what you're focused on?" Callen asked, incredulously. "I know I've seen this exact motel in at _least_ four horror movies."

"Your phone's GPS led us here, and it's the only motel around, so you can sleep in the car tonight if you want, but I'm getting a room."

"What if everything's booked already?"

Nell surveyed the nearly empty parking lot – a beat up Chevy pick-up in the back and two non-descript sedans near the motel. "Yeah, we better run fast before the rooms are gone."

He looked at her disapprovingly. "You never know if a busload of tourists got dropped off for a convention or something."

"A convention around here? On what?"

"I don't know." He waved a hand at the wilderness threatening to envelop the motel. "Trees!"

"Let's see the inside," she suggested. "If you don't approve, we'll move on, otherwise we're staying."

He thought that was fair. "Agreed."

The wind picked up as they walked toward the office entrance. She had to admit the trees swaying around them as they approached the run-down building made for a creepy atmosphere. "You know, you might be right? I could see a serial killer living here. Probably owns this place, waiting for unsuspecting travelers like us to arrive. The tagline would be: stay the night…forever."

She laughed, thinking she was hilarious, and he muttered something about how she wouldn't be laughing the next morning when she woke up to find he'd taken the car and left her there.

To their relief, the clerk was a pleasant, middle-aged man who didn't give off any murderous vibes. He told them the only reason the motel existed was because the road was one of the only throughways between towns and they mostly got tourists on road trips. Callen tried to picture him and Nell on a road trip across the country. It surprised him how much he didn't hate the idea. Outside of Sam, he couldn't imagine spending that much time with someone without killing them. And even Sam was a close call.

They took two connecting rooms and Callen deemed them fitting enough to pass his inspection. They were clean, slightly over-sized, and had comfortable beds, which was more than they'd expected when they'd been standing in the parking lot. The décor was mid-90's chic mixed with faux knotty pine, and it made Nell nostalgic for family vacations at the cabin they used to rent in Maine.

They'd had little time to do more than drop off their things before they went to meet Reynolds.

Callen half-expected to report back home that he'd been right, that Reynolds was beyond insane and had tried to kill them, or something equally bizarre that would prove his suspicions correct. To his amazement, their meeting was incredibly anti-climactic. Reynolds was a bit out there, for sure, but far short of crazed or even threatening toward him or Nell.

It took five minutes to peg him as completely harmless. He regarded Callen with suspicion until Nell 'vouched' for him as nothing more than a fellow agent sent along as a bodyguard for the trip, and Reynolds more or less ignored him after that. Callen figured if Reynolds had any idea of the numerous ways Nell knew to incapacitate him, he wouldn't have been so comfortable around her.

Reynolds apparently felt Nell understood him in ways no other woman ever had, and she'd utterly charmed him in turn. She earned three 'live-with-me-forever-in-unwedded-bliss-because-I-don't-believe-in-state-sanctioned-marriage' proposals. In fact, his immediate affinity for Nell was the only thing that bothered Callen for the entire meeting, and Nell handled it before he could say a word. She let Reynolds down easy (she 'wasn't ready for the commitment he deserved'), and they got their information and left with only a handful of lectures about how the government 'denied the truth'. One of those 'truths' was that aliens had taken over half of Congress (Callen was inclined to believe him on that one).

Callen waited until they were a safe distance from Reynolds' shack – or as the man called it – his 'bunker'. "I think that went well. We're still alive."

"You set the bar so high," she told him, as they made their way through the trees and back to the rental car.

Callen couldn't resist. "You two had chemistry, sure you don't want to stay in Georgia? Live in the woods and dream up conspiracies for the rest of your life?"

"You don't 'dream them up' if they're true," she said smartly, as he looked at her sideways.

"Don't tell me that –"

"All I'm saying is the government is vast and full of thousands of people with thousands of opportunities to take advantage. I'm sure plenty have exploited their positions and we'll never know."

He couldn't argue with that kind of logic, but if she admitted she believed in some of the craziness Reynolds had been throwing around…well, he could never let that go. "Do you subscribe to those conspiracy magazines? Hey, we can turn around, drop you off back at –"

"Admit that there are things you will never know," she cajoled, breathing in deeply. It was early autumn, and the weather was beautifully mild. "Believe it or not, I like it out here. I'd have been fine living in the woods." Once upon a time, before the life she had now.

He shifted his gaze to her, then back in the direction they'd come from. "Really?"

She huffed. "Not with the crazy guy, okay? At least," she muttered, "not _that_ one."

She brushed by a branch that got caught in her hair and reached up to rip it away instead of spending the time to untangle it. The sharp pain told her she'd lost some hair to that one.

Callen reached over and pulled a leaf from the vicinity of her ear. "I could see you out here every day."

"Doing what?"

He shrugged. "What do people do in the woods?" Actually, he didn't know, but if you asked Reynolds, they probably spent a good part of their time running their conspiracy theory blogs and maintaining their solar panels. "Appreciate nature?"

"Let me guess, you appreciate nature by looking out your windows?"

"Exactly."

She made a show of easily jumping over the trunk of a fallen tree. Reynolds hadn't bothered to make the 'path' to his home very accessible or easy to follow (that was probably the point). Callen shook his head at her theatrics, though the effect was lost when he stepped on the tree to get over it and slipped on the edge. She reached out to grab his arm, and neither of them fell.

While he honestly _could_ imagine her anywhere, living any kind of life (she was as adaptable as anyone he'd ever known), he didn't know what _he'd_ do if she weren't on their team anymore. Granger would probably try to replace her and – no, he'd never let it happen. "I'm grateful we won't lose you to blissful forest living. Hetty wouldn't forgive me if I came back without –" He got distracted by an insect buzzing around his head and started wildly waving at it, accidentally hitting her in the shoulder.

"Watch it! I'm not an insect," she complained. "Would you relax?"

"Sorry. There's so many bugs out here," he informed her, as if she hadn't noticed them herself (or his frenetic gestures). "I can say, after this, I'm looking forward to going back to the motel. Even if it's straight from the set of _Vacancy_. That reminds me, I have to check the rooms for cameras."

"Yup, you're officially the worst person to travel with, ever. While you're at it, don't forget to check the bathtubs and closets for murderers," she advised, and when he swatted at her that time, there were no insects to blame.

Later that evening, after dinner and checking in back home (and Callen thoroughly searching their rooms for listening devices or cameras – none were found), Nell felt compelled to bring up their earlier argument which hadn't finished to her satisfaction. Callen thought Reynolds was mostly crazy; Nell thought his theories couldn't necessarily be disproved. She didn't know what she was after – Callen admitting he was wrong, maybe? Yeah, she knew it was unlikely.

"Just because he's eccentric doesn't mean all of his ideas are completely without merit," she told Callen as they got ready for bed.

"Yes, it does," he said, more for the fun of arguing with her than anything else.

"Eric already told us the account transactions and aliases checked out. Braxton was behind everything." She said it as if one thing being true meant that everything Reynolds said was true. She disappeared into her room and came back a minute later, brushing her teeth.

He was lounging on his bed, watching her instead of the television in the background. "The politician was behind the whole thing. Take in my surprise. I could have told you that before we came out here."

"Yoursho shinical," she said, as he propped his head up on his arms behind him.

"I can't win," he protested. "I disagree with you and I don't understand reality. I agree with you and I'm cynical. Pick one!"

"Idon hafta," she insisted, mostly because she couldn't argue his point.

"And why aren't you brushing your teeth in the bathroom like a normal person?"

"Becush itime –" She gave up, stabbing her toothbrush viciously in his direction. She left again, presumably to rinse. "I time it, two minutes," she yelled from the other room. "I haven't had a cavity since 2002."

"Whatever you – really, 2002?" That was impressive. "Hey, give me your toothpaste, I forgot mine."

She returned and threw something at him that he caught out of sheer reflex.

"Lemon Twist? I hate to break it to you; this isn't toothpaste. It's frosting."

She grinned. "It's deliciously citrusy."

He murmured that because it sounded fun to say and glanced up in time to catch a look of fondness pass over her face. He looked between her and the tube. "Where's the mint? You can't have toothpaste without mint."

"Try something new. You might like it."

"I hate new things," he said, adamantly, which earned him a decorative throw pillow to the head as she walked back to her room.

After brushing his teeth, he made sure to tell her, loudly, that he hated it. (He liked it.) She informed him that he was a liar, and that she was going to sleep. He gathered by her slightly muffled words that she was already in bed. She hadn't closed the door between their rooms, which meant that neither would he.

The wind picked up outside and set him ill at ease. The clerk had mentioned storms might pass through that night, and it wasn't uncommon to lose power in the area. He'd also mentioned that it took forever to get it back, a downside to being low on the electric company's list of priorities. Callen found a flashlight in the drawer next to his bed, but it was dead. Oh well.

He flipped out the lights. His room was dark, and faint orange light shone in from Nell's room, which told him she must have left the bathroom light on.

One minute he was staring at that light, the next he was jolting upright in bed, having no idea what had woken him. There was no sound outside except an occasional strong gust of wind, and he took in the silence. No hum of hot water heaters or the small fan that had been going in the corner when he'd fallen asleep – they must have lost power, and the change in environment woke him up.

That was when he realized his eyes weren't adjusting to the darkness. He couldn't see a damn thing. It wasn't dark, it was _pitch_ _black_, no trace of light from _anywhere _and for a terrifying moment as he waved his hand in front of his face, he wondered if he'd gone blind overnight. He fumbled for his phone on the bedside table in slight panic, sighing with relief when the screen lit up, even though it hurt his eyes. He quickly pressed the button to turn it off, and then it hit him like he'd been shot (a term he never used lightly, because he knew what being shot felt like).

_Nell_.

Maybe she was still asleep, he thought. No, he prayed. He jumped out of bed, forgetting his phone until he heard it fall somewhere between the headboard and the wall. Great. He didn't bother trying to retrieve it, certainly not when he couldn't see a damn thing, and who knew how long it would take him to find it when he had a much more pressing matter on his mind.

He automatically grabbed his firearm, and though he remembered the layout of furniture in the room, he _still _nearly took himself out on an armchair due to his haste. He felt along the wall toward the open door that led to her room and stepped inside. It was second nature to shut door behind him and lock it. "Nell?" He whispered, afraid to say it any louder for fear he'd wake her up and scare her. He received no answer.

Darkness didn't bother him, but he could admit the complete absence of light was rather troubling. He felt his heart rate quicken, his breath coming faster. His eyes couldn't adjust to anything, because there was nothing to adjust to. There wasn't a hint of light from the windows, like there normally would be even on the darkest of nights. The storm moving in had blocked any traces of light from stars or the sliver of moon that had been present when they went to bed. No glow from the parking lot meant the power was out everywhere, not just their rooms. Most people would probably sleep through it.

He knew general darkness didn't bother Nell, it was something about _complete _blackness that got to her on a primal level. His mind brought him back to that time in the gym when he'd done this _to_ her. On purpose. He hadn't known, and the memory still filled him with remorse.

He remembered where the bed was and kept walking until he hit it, biting back a curse of pain. That was when he heard her shaky breathing and knew she was awake. He cautiously put his hand out and found her shoulder.

"Do you have your phone?"

She didn't answer him, though she reached out to take hold of the hand that was touching her. He felt around on the bedside table for her phone and found nothing except her weapon and badge.

He stood next to her bed and waited, feeling perhaps as helpless as he ever had. He didn't know what to do.

A few months ago, in the gym, she hadn't been able to talk; she'd hardly been able to _breathe_.

He made a sudden decision. Without asking (what answer would she give, anyways), he took his hand away from her, and when she inhaled sharply, he knew what she was thinking – that he was going to leave her.

"No," he said. "_No_." He went around to the right side of the bed, setting his gun on the nightstand within easy reach. He slipped under the covers and she made no move toward him from where she huddled on the left side. He reached over for her, feeling in every line of her body how unnaturally rigid she was under his hands. Normally he would have paused, reassessed what he was doing, but she needed him too much for him to care about anything except helping her. He felt a nearly indescribable need to make sure she was okay.

He pulled her back against him in one move, so that he was along the length of her back and she still wasn't moving much (or at all) to help him. He knew her fear was the darkness, and not him, so he ignored her unwelcoming body language and put his left arm around her, pulling her closer against him.

His right hand settled at the back of her neck, and she lifted her head slightly. He knew what she wanted and eased his right arm under her neck until she laid back down. She reached a hand up to clasp his, pressing them both to her face as she took another uneven breath. He felt the tears there and had to take a deep breath of his own, whispering that she was okay, they were both okay. He used his free hand, the one she didn't have a death grip on, to wipe away her tears.

It took a few minutes, some of the longest of his life (and probably hers), until he felt her relax slowly, melting into him a little bit as her body caught up to what her mind already knew. She wasn't alone. She was safe.

"I'm sorry," she managed, voice raspy from lack of sleep, from crying silently. "I don't mean to be pathetic."

He tightened his hold on her. "You're not pathetic. There's no shame in being afraid."

She shifted slightly, rolling over a bit so she could lie on her back, and it wasn't lost on him that she was very careful to make sure she didn't lose even a single point of contact between their bodies. The covers stayed firmly over them, a remnant of the protection everyone felt in childhood by pulling them up, staying where the monsters couldn't see.

He could feel it, in every way she moved, that she didn't want him going anywhere.

He turned a little, too, so he was more on his back, his arm still under her neck. She tucked her left hand up by her head as she leaned into him, and put her free arm over his chest. He found her hand and tapped on it over and over, the gesture meaningless except to reassure her he was still awake and there with her.

They laid there for a little while, until her heart, which had been racing so fast she could have been a sprinter, slowly eased back into a normal rhythm.

He racked his brain trying to think of options. She'd forgotten her tablet when she left her place in a hurry the day of their flight (they'd almost missed it, in fact), and he hadn't brought his because she was supposed to bring hers. They'd had to rely on their cell phones for the trip, which wasn't that bad, except for the screen size making it harder to view documents. "Do you have a flashlight in here? Where's your phone?"

He felt her stop breathing at the thought of him getting up, and curved the arm under her neck so he could run his hand through her hair.

She relaxed again. "I looked before bed, nothing in here of use. When I got into bed, I realized my phone was missing. It must be in the car, I was too lazy to go get it. It was almost dead anyways, probably completely dead now."

He hardly paid attention to her words, mostly relieved she was speaking more normally, that she was getting more air. "My phone's dying, too. Then I dropped it and now it's lost somewhere in my room. I didn't feel like crawling under the bed in the dark. I could try to find it if you want…?" He deliberately left his next actions up to her.

"No," she said hastily, and his heart clenched at the near panic in her voice at the thought of him getting up, and the way she moved even closer to him (he hadn't thought it possible).

"Okay," he reassured her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I mean, you never know what you're gonna find under there," she tried to joke, and he got the feeling she was glad he'd closed the door on his way in, cut in half the size of the room they were stuck in, the number of places to hide. Actually, it made him feel better, too.

He stared up at where the ceiling should be, seeing _nothing_. It must have been similar to being fully blind. No change between eyes open or closed. It was surreal. Every few minutes a howl of wind outside would cause her to tense in his arms, but other than that, there were no sounds except their quiet breathing (hers occasionally interrupted by a sudden inhalation that gave away her earlier crying).

He knew that if he found the situation unsettling, she must be experiencing a hundred different kinds of terrifying. He turned slightly toward her and breathed into her hair, plagued by the thought he wasn't doing enough.

"We could leave," he suggested. "Drive somewhere else? It's late, though, and who knows how far the power outage extends. My phone said it was past midnight before I came in here."

He could feel her shaking her head in the way she moved against him. "No. It'll come back. It's fine." Each word got quieter until he could barely hear the last one.

It wasn't fine. Nothing about it was _fine_. He felt he should be doing more. He should be _fixing_ it.

Her next words interrupted his self-recrimination. "Do you think this…seeing nothingness and blackness forever…" her whispering trailed off, and then picked up again, "Do you think this is what dying is like?"

That caused _him _to jerk in surprise, because he actually knew. She got it, maybe a few seconds too late, and she tried to get up, but he wouldn't let her go. She gave in easily, because she didn't want to go anywhere.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I shouldn't have said that."

He had to share it with her (he'd already shared so much with her that he'd never told anyone). "Dying isn't like this. It's…happiness and light."

"Yeah?" She breathed, and the slow way she said that one word, the hopefulness she put into it – like she needed to believe it more than anything – made everything in him ache. At that moment he wanted to protect her from everything in the world, including dying.

"Yeah. I remember that, at least. Not much else, just the contentment. The peace. I don't know if it was my mind giving up, thinking it was the end, or if it was something else. I've always hoped it was something else…that at the end, there was more."

She hummed in the affirmative. "Me too."

The minutes passed, or maybe hours, he had no idea. It was as if time had stopped existing in that room with them. He knew she hadn't fallen asleep because her breathing hadn't evened out.

The strange sense of tranquility that had filled him, lying there with her, meant that her next words cut deep. "You don't have to stay here because of me. If you want to go back to your room…"

He thought it had probably taken everything in her to make that offer. He had to focus on his breathing for a minute before replying. It hurt that she thought he might do that to her. That she figured she might be more of a burden or obligation than anything else.

His silence went on too long, and she curled her hand into his shirt, an unconscious gesture to keep him there. He knew she didn't want him to go, but she'd rather suffer in silence (and it _would_ be suffering) than ask him to stay if he didn't want to. It made him suddenly, irrationally, angry.

How could she keep putting other people ahead of herself? How could she not ask him to stay when she needed him there? She _knew _him now, and somehow didn't recognize that she'd made herself part of his life to the point that taking care of her was necessary to his own well-being.

He would have pushed her away, lashed out at her, if he didn't know how incredibly damaging that would have been considering the circumstances. The old him might have done it without thinking, without realizing until it was too late. He kept his composure, but couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "You are _crazy_ if you think I'm leaving you."

Her grip on his shirt eased. "Okay," she said, like he hadn't allowed her to start breathing again. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

She nudged his foot with her own, maybe in apology. "Don't lie to me."

"Stop telling me what to do. Or rather, not to do."

She waited another minute. "Maybe I _am _crazy. You know a lot of people think it, thanks to you."

"You're welcome." He let his hand start rubbing circles on the back of hers in a calming gesture, though it might have been more for him than for her.

"You're worse than me," she had to point out.

"I know I am," he admitted, wondering if she'd picked up on the fact that the accusation was mostly true when it came to her.

"Maybe you should interact more with our fellow agents in an effort to convince them you're completely sane." She was kidding. Mostly. "Mentor some new agents? Granger might have more productive ideas."

The thought of Granger putting him to work as some type of…community outreach leader for new agents made him shudder. "Come on, Nell, we covered this, remember? I hate new things."

"I was new once," she reminded him. "What did you think of me?"

"Back when you joined us?" He had to take a minute to remember back that far. It was hard to recall those days now that he knew her so well. "You were…we didn't know what to make of you."

"In other words, you hated me."

"I didn't say that! Let's say you were an acquired taste. What I mean is, we had to get used to you." He wondered why each thing he said sounded worse than the last.

"I think you disliked me and don't want to admit it," she said, voice still completely even, and he _hated _it when she used that tactic. He knew her expression wouldn't have given anything away, either, if he could see her.

"That couldn't be further from the truth. Honestly, Nell, none of us thought you were going to stick around. It might not have happened right away, but once we got to know you we realized…uh, not that it took that long! That's not what…" Huh, he was still making it worse. "For future reference, how far up out of this grave am I going to have to climb?"

She had to take pity on him. "Not that far," she assured.

He felt her shaking slightly against him and couldn't believe it. "You're laughing!"

"Sorry," she admitted, not sounding sorry in the slightest. As much fun as it was to torture him, she couldn't keep it up. "I know all of that, Callen. Have you forgotten I work with _Eric_? Who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it? He told me everything by the end of my first day, pretty much."

He should have been annoyed at her joke, but he only felt relief that she didn't think they'd hated her. "You're mean."

"It was too good an opportunity to pass up." She had given it a lot of thought over the years, and she understood what it must have been like for them. "I know you guys were a close group when I joined you. I didn't expect to be liked by anyone at first, and I certainly never expected to be loved. It's hard to accept new people when you already think of yourselves as a family."

"You're right. We definitely didn't warm up to you the first day. It took a lot longer than that." It wasn't lost on him the way she tensed slightly, as if expecting him to say something she really didn't want to hear. "Yeah, we didn't love you until…well, it was a long time. A really long time. I'd say…by the end of the second day?" He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she started laughing again.

"You're a liar," she informed him, voice too light to be serious.

"Prove me wrong," he challenged.

They both knew she had no way of doing so. What's more, she wouldn't have wanted to even if she could.

A sudden flash of lightning briefly lit up the room, startling both of them. Thunder followed a few moments later, hitting with a loud crack that had Nell pressing her face into his shoulder.

"This is the worst trip you've ever taken me on," she accused.

He was mostly glad she sounded more tired than afraid. "How is this my fault? I didn't want to come to Georgia in the first place."

"It's still your fault," she argued. "You owe me."

He wouldn't argue with owing her, under any circumstances. "I know," he whispered.

He thought about every time she'd been there for him, including the times he thought he hadn't wanted anyone. She seemed to know when to be there and when to back away, more so than he did himself. The truth was, he knew he owed her far more than she meant by her joke, and he didn't know how to tell her that. The best he could do was show her whenever he could. Like that night.

It occurred to him that maybe he got as much comfort from her as she did from him.

Once the rain started, they were both able to fall asleep to the strangely comforting sound. The next time Callen became aware of his surroundings, the storm had passed and the bit of grey sky he could see around the edge of the curtains indicated it was early morning. Light also filtered in from the bathroom, and he wondered when the power had returned.

They'd separated at some point, and she was sleeping a couple feet away from him. It made him realize how spacious the bed really was; it hadn't seemed like it in the dark.

He wondered if it was worth going back to his room, if she'd care that he was still there when she woke up. His musings came too late, because he felt eyes on him and turned to find her awake. He waited for her to say something, anything to let him know she was fine.

She smiled at him, brilliant in a way he didn't recognize, and he knew they'd gone far beyond 'fine'.

"I should get my phone," he said, not moving.

"Yeah, me too." She didn't make any effort to get out of bed, edging closer to him instead.

He automatically held his arm out for her and she curled up next to him, as if it was something they always did. "To hell with it, it has to be too early to get up. If there's an emergency, everyone knows where we are. They can call the room."

She wholeheartedly agreed, though it wasn't her priority right then. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to fall back asleep," she told him, and the irony, after last night, wasn't lost on her. "It's getting too bright in here."

Yeah, he thought, taking in the warmth of her next to him, it really was.

**XXXXXX**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Thanks for the feedback!

**XXXXXX**

Someone snaps their fingers in front of his face and Callen realizes he's been lost in thought.

"Look alive, Callen," Eric says, "or someone's going to take you out. And newsflash, it's gonna be Nell."

"Well, I wouldn't expect it to be _you_," Callen informs him.

Nell's the one who snapped her fingers; she often worries when he disappears like that, because it usually means he's remembering something awful.

She has no way of knowing that lately he's been thinking more of the good, and less of the bad. "I'm fine," he says, before she can ask.

She doesn't believe him, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "You kind of stood there. Blankly. You'd tell me if…" she doesn't know how to end that, doesn't know what right she has to it.

He won't let her spend the rest of the morning thinking he's lying to her. "Just…" He tips his head and sort of smiles. "Georgia."

He doesn't have to elaborate; she knows from the way he says it that's he talking about that one night and nothing else. It should be one of her worst memories, and yet it's not, because he'd been there.

He'd kept a horrible memory from forming and left her with a good one, instead. It's not a secret – they've talked about it and he knows how she feels about that night.

"What happened in Georgia?" Eric asks, curious about a story he's never heard from either of them. "Did you leave something out of the reports? Did that conspiracy guy try to attack you? I _knew _you shouldn't have gone."

Nell flashes her gaze to Callen's, an unnecessary confirmation passing between them. That night belongs to them alone.

"I taught her how to fight," Callen says easily, "in the woods."

He says it as if that's some kind of skill necessary for life, and the kicker is that he's telling the truth. Or at least, The Truth According to Callen. It was session 65, the morning after that night, and they'd had hours to kill before their flight. He'd decided to take the opportunity to drag her into the woods of Georgia for an impromptu lesson.

Eric figures he should have guessed that already. "Of course you did."

"If you're running around a forest with someone after you," Nell speaks as if she's repeating something from rote memory, "tree branches are great to use as a weapon."

"To 'gouge people's eyes out'," Callen corrects, as those had been his actual instructions.

"Because that's what I'm going to use when I have a gun. A _tree branch_." The way she says it tells Eric she's probably said it before.

"It's a tip for when you're unarmed," Callen sounds equally exasperated. Yeah, they're definitely repeating an old argument.

Eric shakes his head, and maybe before he would have thought they were putting him on, but not anymore. He's getting more and more used to it; he thinks everyone is.

It surprised him at first that Nell would want to train with Callen, and later, that she enjoyed it as much as she did. As time went on, she increasingly regaled Eric with stories of what they did, where they went. She'd invited him along a few times, but no part of what they practiced sounded appealing to him in the slightest.

Besides, it was…_theirs_. When he sees them train together, in their own world and oblivious to anything else, he feels like he shouldn't intrude. No matter how many times they offer.

He finds their unexpected camaraderie the most fascinating part of their arrangement. When Nell first told him of her plans to train with Callen, he'd never expected it to unfold the way it did. He'd been sure one (or both) of them would quit in frustration and complain about the other for a few weeks until they reluctantly returned to the team dynamic they'd had before. Instead, they'd created an entirely new dynamic all their own.

It took Eric some time to admit that Callen and Nell's friendship has made things better. The entire team seems to get along easier, and Eric no longer feels as if he and Nell are a separate entity from everyone else, always isolated back at headquarters while the rest go into the field. Yeah, that's still mostly the way their cases work, but it's like Callen and Nell becoming closer has made _everyone_ closer. They all see each other more, spend more time together outside of work, and Eric doesn't feel quite like the outsider he always did before.

Another bonus is that he gets to hear stories like the time Callen had taken Nell out on a boat to practice training in a situation where her 'balance was compromised'. She'd gotten seasick and pushed him overboard out of spite, and Callen had told her she won because she'd used the best weapon at her disposal: the ocean (picturing it had made Eric regret turning down their offer to join them that day). He hasn't admitted to Nell that he finds listening to their stories as entertaining as she finds living them.

Others around work have noticed the changes, too. In the beginning, people wondered why they practiced together so much. Then it became normal enough that people wondered about the times they _weren't _practicing together. The whispered questions have gone beyond that, too, and Eric's tried to hint to Nell that she can talk to him about anything. She's never taken him up on it, though. At this point, he's certain they're not secretly in a relationship, and he's equally as certain that they should be.

"Like I'm going to be able to blind someone with a stick!" Nell's saying. "You are delusional. No one's going to stay still enough for that. And if they do, they're probably dead _already_, in which case why am I trying to remove their eyes?"

"It's about strategies, Nell. And countermeasures."

"Stop throwing out words that you think sound good. Those are not answers to any of my questions."

"I don't think my response is the problem." He sends her a significant look. "The problem seems to be the person interpreting my response."

She scowls, only to prevent herself from accidentally smiling instead. In truth, he'd actually taught her some helpful things about covering her trail in the woods and misdirecting anyone who might be chasing her, as long as she had a decent head start. She highly doubts she'll ever need those kinds of skills, just as she doesn't think she'll use much of the obscure stuff he teaches her. It was kind of the point – learn as much as possible so that the few things you might need one day were readily available.

Nell's learned that Callen is a master at improvisation. He's always assessing the environment, analyzing ways to get out of a situation, making note of what he can use as a weapon if the need arises. It impresses her as much as it saddens her that he'd needed to start learning those skills at a young age, and that he'd needed to keep practicing them because of his career. She pointed it out one day and he'd reminded her that her career was the same. They both did it because they loved it, no further explanation needed.

She's learning other things, too. Like the fact that he'll take anything she says seriously if he thinks it will be fun to screw with her – or if he can turn her joke into a life lesson.

The best example had been a few months earlier. They'd been working out in the gym, and he'd mentioned trying to think up new ideas.

"What about zero gravity?" She'd joked. "I have some contacts at NASA." She did have the contacts, though she had no intention of using them.

Callen was supposedly 'supervising', which that day meant walking in circles around her while she used the punching bag. "I'll keep it in mind if we're assigned a case where we have to go into orbit."

"How about the mountains? I bet it's good to train in thin air." She tried to think of anything ridiculous. "Or a farm?"

He stopped walking, recalling a memory. "Throw a chicken at someone. Guaranteed shock. And not just for the chicken."

She steadied the bag. "You've done that?"

He shook his head, looking slightly traumatized. "It was done to _me_. Did you know many of them can fly or glide short distances? As in right at your face when someone lets go of them. It's…disconcerting."

She wisely didn't tell him she thought it sounded more hilarious than anything else (he'd probably make her practice it for real). "Why were you on a farm?"

"Terrorists, Nell," he stated, as if it should have been obvious. "It was a hideout for their drug operation, they were funneling the money back overseas. It was pretty funny, you should have seen Sam when they tried to get away on horseback and he ended up in the pond. I was busy disabling the tractor, or else things might have turned out differently."

She replayed his words a few times before giving up. "What?"

"You had to be there."

The pond gave her an idea, though. "What about underwater?" She laughed while she said it.

She wasn't laughing the next day when they stood in back of headquarters, late afternoon sun beating down on them pleasantly. "No. No, I did not agree to this."

"Lesson 51," he grinned broadly, waving her toward the water. "I would have brought you to a public beach, except this is more convenient with the showers right inside, and the others can easily find us if they need to. Plus, I won't get arrested when bystanders think I'm trying to drown you."

"Since it's completely plausible that I'm going to be fighting someone in the ocean."

"What if I'm an attacker and chase you in? Or I'm a suspect trying to get away from you by running into the ocean, thinking you won't follow?"

She glanced between him and the water. "First case? I hope I'd have more sense than to try and escape someone by running into the ocean. Second case? You're right. I'd wave goodbye and let you go."

"You'll thank me when I teach you how not to drown."

"My whole life I haven't breathed while underwater. Are you saying there's another way to go about not drowning?"

He ignored that. "Consider yourself lucky that I let you change into gym clothes," he said, as if that were particularly magnanimous of him.

"Yeah, I'm feeling so lucky right now." She splashed some water in the vicinity of his face. "That's definitely the word."

"You _should_ feel lucky that I devote this much time to you. No one else gets the honor."

She was grateful to him, and he knew it, but she still had to give him a hard time, lest he get too full of himself. "I think the honor here is _me_ spending time with you. Who else would you teach? Eric? Don't forget that we've asked other people along, and they usually refuse."

"We scare them," Callen said, which was true – he'd heard from Sam that was the general opinion around NCIS. "I don't know why, though. I suppose they don't get us, Nell," he sighed, as if being misunderstood was one of the great tragedies of his life.

"We're in the ocean," she countered. "Do you think _this_ is why? It's not that they don't get us, I think it's that they 'get us' too well."

Callen's main goal that day was to teach her how to get away from someone attempting to drown her. It wasn't that different from how she'd normally escape, except she had to be aware of how deadly the water could be if an assailant was able to hold her under.

They hadn't been out there for long when a voice called to them from the dock a few feet away. "I didn't quite believe it when Deeks told me I'd find you out here." Granger was shading his eyes from the sun, trying to convince himself those were indeed his two agents splashing around in the water.

"Essential skills, Granger. Today we're teaching Callen's Ocean Survival Guide 101." He grasped Nell's shoulders and dunked her under the water.

"Neither of you better die. I don't have time for the paperwork this week."

Callen put his feet down to the bottom and stood, revealing how shallow the water was where they were. It only came to his chest in their current spot. "It's not deep." He cast a glance at Nell; the water was almost at her neck. "Well, if you're not vertically-challenged."

She kneed him in the side for that one and he collapsed, falling under the water and resurfacing in an instant.

"Mr. Callen," another person called, and they turned to the dock on the other side to see Hetty standing on it, watching with disapproval. Callen spared a thought to wondering where she'd come from and how she'd gotten there without him or Nell noticing. "I know you are not using height as a way to disparage your co-worker."

Nell had never seen Callen's face drain of color that quickly and she stored the memory away to relish forever.

"No. Never. Uh, never." He looked to Nell for help that wasn't coming.

"He makes fun of me all the time, Hetty," Nell claimed, exaggerating greatly. In retaliation, Callen pushed her backwards and she lost her balance, going under again.

"She's a liar, Hetty. I would _never_."

Nell took advantage of being underwater to pinch Callen's arm as hard as she could. When he yelled and jumped away, Hetty smiled in satisfaction, happy the younger woman could give as good as she got. She made sure to appear stern again by the time they turned back to her. "As admirable as your dedication is to…whatever you call this, I'm afraid you'll have to cut it short. New case, be upstairs in 15 minutes."

"News to me, must have just happened," Granger told them, as Hetty went back inside. "I came to ask for your reports on the last case, Callen. Lucky you – now you have a reprieve."

"Until the end of this one when you have to fill out twice the reports," Nell added, patting Callen's arm in fake sympathy.

Callen would have gone after her again if Granger hadn't stopped him by ordering them to cease and desist (Nell noticed that he sounded amused, though).

Too bad he's definitely not amused right now.

Nell watches the assistant director explain something to Kensi and Deeks while shaking the manual for emphasis. He then orders everyone to practice from page 47 and (for perhaps the first time that morning) everyone makes a genuine attempt at following his order.

Eric announces he's feeling more confident, even as he keeps shying away from Nell when she goes for him. He insists that avoiding her is an 'instinctual reaction' to someone coming at him. Nell's at a loss for what to do other than chain him down or something.

Callen knows he should be concentrating on sparring with Sam, yet he can't help watching Eric and Nell. He's starting to feel genuinely bad for her, even as he's thoroughly entertained by her attempts to teach a completely unwilling Eric anything remotely new.

"Head's not in the game, G," Sam states the obvious when he catches Callen off-guard and takes him down to the mat for the third time in a row. "You're making it way too easy for me. At this point you may as well lie on the mat and I'll start walking around you claiming victory every three minutes."

"I'm paying attention," Callen lies, shaking off the hits he's taken. "Are you seeing this?" He motions for his partner to watch Eric and Nell.

She's switched strategies and is trying to get Eric to come at her. Eric's making a valiant attempt, though he keeps coming up short of touching her and going back to the edge of the mat to start over.

Sam has to admit they're at least as entertaining as beating Callen, especially since Callen isn't putting much effort into it. "You guys okay over there?" He asks cautiously. "How are things going?"

Nell doesn't have an encouraging answer. "They're…going."

"Where?" Eric asks. "To the hospital? That's what it seems like."

She tries to remain calm (as if she hasn't repeated this a dozen times already). "I've become pretty well versed in not hurting people while doing this."

Callen smiles inwardly when she says it, thinking of their first session.

It had felt different meeting in the gym at night. Their only company had been two agents at the climbing wall, paying them no attention. They'd had the rest of the gym to themselves. Callen had thought about backing out for the previous two days. He wasn't sure if he was the right person to teach her, if he was what she needed.

They'd sparred together a few times, always in team trainings and the like, and he knew she was good. She could hold her own in a fight with a run-of-the-mill suspect, but he knew she'd have trouble taking the likes of him or Sam. Or Kensi and Deeks, for that matter.

The more he'd thought about it, the more he'd worried about what might happen if she faced off against an opponent who was well-trained. Most people they came across weren't, but the dangerous ones, the terrorists or assassins or anyone trained at a higher level than her could take her and she wouldn't have a chance.

That was ultimately what kept him from canceling and finding a proper class or instructor to train her. Once he started thinking about the things he could teach her, the more he realized he couldn't allow _anyone else _to do it.

He wasn't sure how long she'd stay – a few sessions? A few weeks? For whatever time she willingly gave him, he'd do what he could.

She stood in the center of the mat, shifting her weight from foot to foot and he knew she'd showed up early to stretch. He'd watched her from the doorway for a moment before entering.

"You're early."

She shot to attention when he walked over. "I wanted to be ready."

"Relax, Nell. This isn't boot camp or anything."

They went over the basics, introductory stuff that she knew, as he tried to set her at ease and get a better sense of her skill level, starting from the ground up. He already knew he wanted to train her more unconventionally than she'd expect, and they were going to have to work their way up to it.

Once they reached her current level, he nodded, impressed. Then he insisted she go past it, and informed her not to hold back. It took several tries for her to actually come at him with intent, and he saw her relief every time he successfully blocked her. It warmed him even as he knew they were going to have to work on that.

The bigger problem came when he went after her. It was the little things, like the way she shied away from him, or the look in her eyes right before he touched her. He didn't remember seeing it in her before, and wondered what was causing her apprehension.

Most of the time she trained with people less experienced. He knew she had a fair chance of taking them, and some she could always beat if she wanted. He thought she would become more comfortable after a little while, that the uneasiness in her eyes would go away, but it didn't. He easily got her into a hold and didn't miss her sigh of relief that he hadn't…what, broken her neck?

He let her go and she stepped away like nothing was amiss.

It was almost as if…since he'd asked her to not hold back with him, she expected he wouldn't hold back with her, either. Even though she had to realize by that point that he wasn't putting much force into anything he was doing. It occurred to him a moment later that despite her reservations, she kept letting him come after her, maybe wondering every time if she'd be hurt.

"Nell," he said, as she turned to him, "I've been doing this for years. I'm pretty much an expert at it."

"Yeah, I know," she said, confusion clouding her eyes.

He decided to spell it out. "I know how to do this without hurting people."

She deflated a little, glancing down at the mat. "I don't think –"

"Yeah," he interrupted, "you do." He ran over the possibilities in his mind. "Who have you sparred with before now?"

"No one regularly." She rattled off a list of names. People from their team, a few agents who he knew were around Nell's skill level, and several others from back when she'd been training as an agent. He was ready to dismiss his suspicions until the last name she said made him swear.

"You had a session with Carlyle?_ Sara _Carlyle."

The woman was tough, a good agent by all accounts, but she definitely had a chip on her shoulder. She was notorious to spar with and it always seemed like she had something to prove. Callen never liked to go against her because she didn't know when to stop, and she never held back even when she should. He hadn't been aware Nell knew her, had never seen them interact.

"A session? No, we were assigned to each other for two months during training," Nell explained.

"Two _months_?"

"I kept asking for someone else, anyone else, but no one would partner with her."

Yeah, Callen knew why. He also knew two months was an odd length of time to be partnered with someone.

"What happened at the end of two months?"

"She almost broke my arm," Nell explained. "I tapped out but Sara was pissed I'd beaten her in a session before, so she wouldn't let up. Luckily, our instructor saw what was going on and screamed at her, and Sara let me go. She didn't face any disciplinary action, she claimed she hadn't noticed me tapping out and that the situation was misconstrued. After that, I refused to work with her, and we permanently changed partners. Sara had a mean streak, for sure."

"She nearly broke your arm and you call it a 'mean streak'?" Callen could hardly believe the way she described it. He wished he'd known, before then.

Nell absently rubbed her arm, and he knew she was remembering how it happened. "I hated working with her at the time, though I can admit one thing: she made me stronger. She's the only reason I'm as good as I am today. I had to be tough to have a chance in hell against her. Or rather, to have a chance of not getting seriously hurt while fighting her."

He tried _very_ hard to control his anger, and had a feeling he wasn't succeeding. "That's not how it's supposed to work."

"A lot of things don't work the way they're supposed to work." She shrugged, and he could tell she wasn't pretending – she'd moved on and harbored no bitterness against the other woman. "I think it's called…life?"

He admired her ability to not hold a grudge. It seemed that some leftover wariness while sparring was all that remained of her time with Carlyle. Nell was tough – more so than he'd realized before that night. "Don't get philosophical on me," he warned.

"Or what?" She challenged. "You gonna break my arm?"

He couldn't help laughing, and it eased the anger he felt. He liked her fire, he always had, and it startled him to find he liked it even more directed at him than at others.

It was the first instant, the first spark of awareness in him that they could make this work. They could make it something great.

"It wasn't a threat," he admitted, though she already knew that. He thought about why he might not have seen her hesitation before, and could only hazard it was because he'd asked her not to hold back, and she'd worried he'd do the same.

She reached up to fix her hair, some of it having fallen out of the ponytail she'd put it in for the night. She sensed his unspoken question. "I guess it's in the back of my mind, sometimes. Not usually, only when I face someone who's clearly much better than I am. I can't help worrying a little that I'm in over my head. I mean one wrong move from either of us and –"

"Not going to happen," he said, firmly. "You have nothing to worry about from me. Let's try again."

They went a few more rounds, and she was still cautious. He didn't blame her. He knew it wasn't something he could fix with a few words. He could talk to her for an hour trying to reassure her and he didn't think it would matter – she had to see it for herself.

"Still not going to hurt you," he said, taking a step back when he saw her hesitation. "Still not changing my mind on that, either."

She had started rolling her eyes every time he said it. "I believe you," she insisted, for probably the fifth time.

He disagreed. "Not yet, you don't."

It wasn't until the end of their session that he was able to take her down for the first time without the apprehension he'd come to expect. They sat on the mat together, both wanting to smile at each other and both looking anywhere else. It didn't seem right to either of them to feel that comfortable together after such a short time, so neither wanted to admit it to the other.

"You finally believe me," Callen said, after the silence had gone on for a few minutes. The agents at the climbing wall had left and it was getting too late for them to be there. (Back in the early days, they'd stubbornly felt obligated to keep to a kind of regular routine. Like straying outside of it would make them too clearly abnormal.)

It took her a few seconds to understand what he meant. "No."

His whipped his head around to face her. "No?"

She cleared her throat. It was about more than belief. "I trust you. I mean, I always have, like I trust our whole team. There's a difference, though, with trusting someone in that way, as opposed to…"

He knew what she meant; he'd had more trust issues in his life than he could count. "As opposed to letting go enough to physically trust them with your life?"

"Yes, exactly." She was relieved he understood.

"Now the trickier part," he told her, as they got up to collect their things. "To build on that trust by _not _trusting each other, so to speak."

"Huh?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Everything you've ever learned about the right way to fight? We're going to forget it. You're going to learn _my _way to fight, which means expecting the unexpected."

"I'm going to guess that's where the…not trusting each other comes in?"

"Right." He caught the skepticism on her face as they started toward the locker rooms. "We're going to work our way up to it once you're more comfortable. We'll stop following the basic rules of sparring, which by definition means that we'll have to stop trusting each other to follow those rules."

"Okay," she sounded more than a little anxious, and he wondered if she was thinking of 'not following the rules' the way Sara Carlyle hadn't liked to follow the rules.

He stopped walking and turned her to face him: he needed to make sure she paid attention to the next part. "I'm not talking about hurting each other. I'm talking about surprising each other. What you _can _trust is that I will never intentionally hurt you in _anything _we practice. In fact, I'll be going out of my way to avoid it, which means if it comes down to it, I'll let myself get hurt over you."

"You don't have to –"

"Yes. I do. It's the number one rule, and you need to know that. This isn't about showing off or teaching you to become some –" he waved his hand around "– martial arts master."

"I could become a ninja," she argued. "You don't know."

He tried not to smile. "It's not even about us trying to beat each other, or win. It's about teaching you to fight the best way I know how, so you can protect yourself whether you're chasing a suspect or God forbid, somebody tries to hurt you. Do you understand? And, more importantly, do you agree?"

She took in his words and slowly nodded. "Yes, I agree. And I'm in."

He had no idea why he felt so relieved at her answer. "Good."

"Hey, later on, when I'm better…then can it be about us beating each other?"

"Oh, you can count on it," he assured her.

Agent Sara Carlyle transferred to another location shortly thereafter. Nell had asked Callen about it, and he'd replied that he had no idea why Granger shuffled people around the way he did. She hadn't pushed it (truthfully, she'd known the answer before she asked the question).

Seven months had passed since their first session, disappearing in an instant. For Callen to hear her paraphrase what he'd said that night…it filled him with a unique sense of pride. He'd kept his word and taught her well enough for her to feel comfortable extending that same promise to others – he's made that difference in her.

In return, she's made a hundred differences in him: he can name quite a few, but he suspects most are things he's not even aware of yet.

**XXXXXX**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Thanks for the responses & encouragement!

**XXXXXX**

"What is this, Nell? You expect us to do that?" Eric looks in dismay at Kensi and Deeks who are lying on the nearby mat at odd angles, like maybe their limbs don't fit right on their bodies anymore.

"Well, not _that_," Nell mutters. She hadn't been watching them and has no idea what maneuver they were trying to pull off, only that it hadn't ended well.

Deeks lifts his head from the floor, takes in the sympathetic witnesses, then drops it again. "I think we're done."

"With life?" Callen asks.

"Sounds good," Kensi says, which at least means she's alive.

"Speaking of life ending," Sam interrupts, clearly unhappy with his partner, "you nearly ended mine two minutes ago. Don't think I've forgotten."

"My spin on the technique made it better," Callen argues, as if he hadn't nearly taken Sam's head off in a poorly thought-out, last minute addition to a spin kick.

"They look dead," Eric is saying to himself, eyes still focused on Deeks and Kensi. He bites his thumbnail and wonders if chewing off his whole thumb will grant him a reprieve from having to do anything else today.

Nell checks the clock. They've been there for two hours. That can't be right – it's been at _least _six months since the morning began.

She pulls Eric further away from everyone to try and regain his attention. "We're going to ignore them. Remember what was I saying before? I'm going to come up behind you and you're going to use my momentum to flip me over instead of letting me take you down. I repeat: if I take you down, you lose. If you take me down, you win. As extra incentive, if you get this right, I'll make up some 'emergency' you're needed for upstairs and Granger will have to let you take an extended break."

That's possibly the best thing Eric's ever heard. "Deal!"

She goes for him and he starts off perfectly, already congratulating himself when his ankle twists as he's flipping her (he's always had weak joints, okay?) and he loses his balance. He tries to save both of them and overcorrects, making it worse. She slips from his grasp and he has enough time to think she's going to kill him for this before he falls, too. She has the harder impact, made worse when he lands partly on top of her. She takes a moment to catch her breath, glad it wasn't her neck she'd landed on.

He silently prays for mercy on her part (his prayers go unanswered).

"What. The. Hell!" She's yelling by the last word, which has the effect of ensuring nearly everyone in the gym is staring at them. Humiliating on top of painful, fantastic.

"Nice takedown, Eric!" Deeks cheers sarcastically, apparently having witnessed the entire disaster. He's still lying on his own mat without having made any attempt to get up.

She checks to see if Callen saw that debacle. From the way he's watching them curiously, without yelling, she gathers that he didn't see how it happened, only the aftermath. From the relief written on Eric's face, she knows that he recognizes how lucky he's been.

Callen is forgiving of her getting taken down when it's deserved – if anything, he's more likely to become upset with _her _for not preventing it from happening – but if he knew Eric had almost injured her by accident, he probably would have tried to ban them from training together.

Considering the circumstances, Nell thinks she'd entirely support that.

"I'm sorry!" Eric exclaims, getting to his knees, hands hovering uselessly as if he knows touching her isn't the best idea. "The mat was…slippery. I tried to catch you."

"You did a great job of it."

"I told you this was a terrible idea," he tries to defend himself. Why are they acting as if he hadn't warned them repeatedly that he wasn't cut out for this? Then he catches her wince of pain as she rubs her elbow and feels guilty again. "Did you hit anything?"

"Yes," she glowers, "the floor."

"Technically, it was the mat –"

"And it hurt," she talks over him, "because I wasn't supposed to land like that." She's trying, she really is, though the pain is making her short with him.

Callen moves closer, hoping to stop the escalation between Eric and Nell.

"Let's reset," Callen suggests calmly. "Try again."

"Reset_. Try again_?" Nell can't keep her annoyance in check. "You're some instructor. Always doling out those helpful tips when needed."

Eric stands up. "I hate to interrupt this pleasant exchange, but at least I took her down. Mission accomplished. Can I leave now?"

Nell would be a lot more understanding if it weren't for his audacity. "Are you trying to take credit for falling down?" She can't let that stand…pun not intended.

Eric needs a way out of this. "I don't know if I 'fell', as much as 'gravity took hold of me' and –"

"You get no credit for dropping me and then falling on me!"

"You _what_?" Callen asks, fixing his eyes on Eric. Yeah, he definitely hadn't seen.

"I think there are a multitude of explanations for what happened here. Let's forget every single one of them and make a truce, shall we?" Eric holds out his hand to Nell, hoping to help her up, mostly because it will place her between him and Callen. She retaliates by yanking hard on his hand and pulling him down onto the mat next to her. He falls awkwardly and shoots her a look of betrayal. He should have expected it, though, since she did have a _slight_ point. He wonders if he should fear Nell or Callen more.

Thankfully, Eric's saved when Agent Will Cameron walks through, heading across the gym. He mutters something Callen _knows_ is directed at him.

"What was that, Cameron?" Callen asks as the other man strolls past. "My offer stands, I'm here whenever you want to lose."

Cameron comes to a halt six feet away. "I like being in one piece, thanks. I'm not taking a chance with your brand of lunacy." He glances at Nell on the mat. "It's never too late, Nell. You're always welcome to join my team. You know, if you feel like working with people who are actually sane?" He says it more to aggravate Callen than anything else, though it's no secret that he'd love for Nell to work with him.

"We've had this conversation," she reminds Cameron as she stands up. "More than once."

"Maybe you'll come to your senses one day," he suggests. Again, it's more to irritate Callen than to convince Nell to leave (she's never going to leave). He used to think she had questionable taste, and although he now knows why she makes the choices she does, part of him will never understand it. He looks between her and Callen, considering their potential instability, at times made worse if they're together. Nope, he'll never understand.

"You can admit you're afraid to go against me," Callen says, ignoring the topic of Nell completely. "It's okay. We'll continue to think less of you."

"Stay on your side of the gym and we won't have a problem," Cameron orders. "And if I did lose my mind and agree to fight you, we both know I'd win."

Nell shifts two feet to her left, making sure she's between the two of them.

Callen bristles at the empty words. It's easy for Cameron to claim he'd win when he'll never step up and prove it. "I was shot six times, Cameron, you know I can take you!"

"See? You're a crazy son of a bitch," Cameron fires back. "And you wonder why I keep my distance!"

Granger sharply announces that they aren't in middle school and the two men fall silent. Everyone else pretends as if they haven't been riveted (maybe even hoping for a fight).

Nell hates when Callen mentions being shot, hates being reminded of it. She presses her hand against his shirt, absently touching the scar nearest his heart. It was the one that should have killed him and didn't because of the way he moved or fell or a million other things that had led to him being positioned exactly as he was so that it hadn't actually touched his heart, but passed it by instead.

He places his hand over hers, sorry for having said it. He doesn't think about his old injuries much anymore. He can't stand her pained reaction whenever it comes up – the look on her face bothers him more now than his scars do.

"I hate that guy," he tells her, as if she doesn't know (what about him doesn't she know? Well, he could think of at least one thing). She's staring at his shirt and not seeing it.

"You only hate him because he hit me in the face," she says lightly, finally looking up. She probably shouldn't have said it, since his stance only gets more rigid, ready to fight a threat that doesn't exist. Has never existed. "By _accident_." She always has to stress that point, and it never seems to matter.

"I hated him long before then," he argues, though they both know it's a lie. He and Cameron had never been friends, the relationship between them coolly professional at best, but that had changed after Nell. He brushes his thumb over the left side of her jaw, and she knows he isn't seeing her at that moment. He's seeing her back then, after her ill-fated session with Cameron.

It had been about four months into their training sessions and Nell knew she was starting to excel. She saw it in the way Callen would smile after she easily completed a new move, in the way others had started complimenting her form and told her the practice was paying off. Not just her team, either. Others they rarely saw or worked with had noticed, too.

Cameron was among them. During their 59th session, he'd been using a punching bag in the gym, though his attention was more focused on her and Callen as they sparred.

When they took a break, he walked over and told her if she lowered her right shoulder a bit when she punched, she'd have better control.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly, taking a moment to admire him. Cameron was an attractive man, and he knew it. He was also confident, capable, and intelligent. They were friendly around work, and if he came across her training, he gave the occasional comment, both criticism and praise. She enjoyed working with him when occasions arose, and it seemed he'd taken a liking to her. She couldn't determine if he was serious or if he was similarly charming to most women he knew.

"You're looking better every time I see you," Cameron said, complimenting her skills on the surface, and more if she chose to acknowledge it. "I'm trying to mix up my sessions. Want a new challenger?"

Callen had gone very still behind her, though Nell was more impressed that he'd stopped himself from throwing his usual veiled insults Cameron's way. She considered Cameron's offer – it never hurt to sharpen her techniques against new people. "Sure," she smiled slowly, "I'd like that."

"Great, call me, we'll set it up." He'd watched Callen's face increasingly darken as he talked to Nell. He managed not to laugh as he sent the man a half, mocking salute before leaving them to resume their session.

Nell didn't know what she expected when they started sparring again, though she wasn't surprised to see Callen back to his easy manner.

"Looking better every time," he mimicked, raising a brow. "He _likes _you."

"He only wants to practice," she insisted.

"Oh yeah? He wants to _practice_ alright."

She tried not to smile. "Am I supposed to be taking you seriously? We're friendly. Nothing more."

"I see how it is. _Friendly._"

She blocked a hit and pushed him away. "I know what you're doing. Stop saying words in that…insinuating tone."

"That is my seductive tone, Nell."

"Suddenly I understand why you're always single." She kicked at him harder than normal. "Do you subject women to that? Because I can't believe it's ever done more than send them running in the opposite direction."

"I am single by _choice_," he argued, "and you can deflect all you want. I know what's going on here."

"He doesn't like me," she insisted. She didn't quite believe that, she merely had to argue the point for the sake of being right and not letting Callen think he'd won.

"Of course he likes you," Callen scoffed. "Have you seen how he acts around you?"

She frowned at that. "What, he's nice to me so he must be interested in me? Otherwise, why would he bother?"

"I never said that!" He argued, and she took him down when he missed a step. She was growing increasingly annoyed, and she didn't know why. She'd initially been flattered at Cameron's attention, especially his praise. She took pride in what she'd achieved thus far, and she thought she was good at reading people. She wanted to believe that even if Cameron had ulterior motives, he wasn't lying to her to about the progress he saw in order to make her more amenable to going out with him.

She sat up, maybe to try and gain a mental advantage, and glanced down at where Callen was lying on the mat. "I can have friends, you know. Some people actually want to be friends with other people."

He didn't seem to care that she'd laid him out, and he hadn't moved. "Stop twisting my words. I'd love for you to be friends with the whole damn world. They'd be lucky to have you. I'm only saying…be careful with this guy. I think he wants more from you."

"There are plenty of examples of men and women becoming friends without expecting anything more from each other," she challenged, a bit harsher than she'd intended. "I mean, look at us."

Right. He abruptly got to his feet, forcing her to move back out of his way. She was about to complain when he offered her a hand up, and she bit back her admonishment as she took it.

Callen thought she was acting off about the whole thing, which made him wonder if there was more to it than he knew. Maybe she didn't _mind_ that Cameron liked her.

Maybe she liked Cameron, too.

Nell thought about what he'd said, about Cameron maybe wanting more from her. "He has tried to get me to join his team," she admitted. "That doesn't mean anything, though, except that he knows how good I am."

As if Callen needed a reason to like Cameron less than he already did. "Go ahead and set it up, then. I guarantee you won't get through a half hour before he's asking you out."

She kicked at him without really thinking about it and he grabbed her foot; the move threw her off balance in a way she despised and was one of her least favorite positions to get stuck in. Callen knew it, too, so he only did it when he really wanted to piss her off. "Too slow," he noted and released her.

She angrily hit his shoulder. "You know I hate that."

"Then stop me from doing it."

"Hmm, maybe Cameron can teach me," she said, thoughtfully.

"That's how it is, huh?" He narrowed his eyes. "This I have to see."

She set up a sparring session with Cameron two mornings later, and Callen made it a point to attend. He claimed he was there to assess how she fought against someone else. Nell didn't believe him.

She absently pulled at her shirt while waiting for Cameron to appear, and caught Callen surreptitiously watching her. "What?"

He sent her an appraising look. "I don't know, Nell. It's a little risqué."

Nell crossed her arms over her tee shirt and glanced down at the work-out capris she was wearing. "You're right. I looked through my outfits for anything that screamed 'come have your way with me'."

"It shows," he said, disapprovingly. "Although I'm sure Cameron will appreciate it."

"It _shows_? This is almost exactly what I wear every time we're down here. Are you blind?"

"Huh." He looked her up and down again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"You definitely look different," he insisted. Maybe he _was _blind.

"Different how?" She asked. "Oh wait, you think it's risqué, which basically means sluttier, right?"

Callen knew when to back away, and that was definitely a time for backing away – perhaps for denying he'd ever spoken in the first place. "Hey Cameron, hurry the hell up!" He yelled toward the locker rooms, as Cameron miraculously appeared that moment. "Can't you ever be on time? We've been waiting forever."

"I didn't know you'd be here," Cameron told him. "And I never thought you'd be eager to see me."

Callen slapped him on the shoulder and pushed him toward Nell. "First time for everything. You two get out there."

Callen's mind wandered as they began laying out ground rules. What if Cameron _did _ask her out and Nell accepted? From there it was a slippery slope…she'd probably start training with Cameron after deciding she liked his style better. And what if she fell in love with him? What if they got married and had kids? What if she left her job for her family, or moved away?

For the first time, he thought about how she had no obligation to him, no need to consult him over any life choice she made. It was easy to trick himself into thinking she did when they'd spent so much time together over the past few months, but their relationship was limited to (more or less) professional training sessions. Oh, he knew they'd gone beyond that – they'd become friends, closer than either had intended, for sure, but that meant nothing in terms of her personal life. Simply (terrifyingly) put, she could choose to leave and he'd never see her again.

When Cameron clapped as a signal they should get started, it snapped Callen out of that dark reality in an instant. He shook the nightmare scenario off as completely implausible – even as his mind started spinning potential ways to derail it if it ever came to pass.

Callen felt he did an admirable job of keeping his mouth shut as Nell and Cameron sparred. Cameron was excellent, Callen had to admit it, and more than that, he knew Nell had to work with other people aside from him. Not everyone in the real world was going to fight the way he did or the way he was teaching her.

And that was exactly the problem. She was having a hard time switching off the skills he'd taught her. She couldn't exactly go for the unfair hits when they had agreed to a regular, 'friendly' match. She'd become too comfortable with Callen, to the point that they hardly ever followed the rules. She'd been trying to switch back and forth more often, especially when she went against other people like Deeks or Kensi, but it was harder to play fair when not doing so gave her a distinct advantage that she was reluctant to give up.

On top of that, she was fighting a person she never had before, and she had no idea what to expect from him. Every time Nell started a move she shouldn't, something that would actually hurt Cameron if he didn't block her in time, she stopped and had to collect herself. Cameron picked up on it quickly, and he alternated between backing away to give her time to regroup and taking advantage. She couldn't resent him for it; it was exactly what she'd do, given the opportunity.

Her poor performance caused her to start questioning everything, which took her out of the fight and made things worse. She might have wondered if her old anxiety about sparring with more skilled individuals was returning, except she didn't feel anxious, only frustrated. Months of working with Callen had more or less eliminated her worry, and she had more confidence; she didn't get as easily intimidated and even if she recognized she couldn't beat someone, she knew she could put up a hell of a fight.

With the way she was struggling and the way Cameron alternated between going for her and randomly backing away, it was inevitable someone would get hurt. She stopped another move that could have injured him, and at the same time he advanced to strike out at her. Since she was already pulling her arms back, she couldn't block it – and she knew herself, knew that was one she would have easily blocked.

The hit glanced off the side of her jaw and she stumbled back a few steps as Cameron watched in absolute horror. They weren't wearing protective equipment since it was supposed to be a friendly sparring session, more a demonstration of moves against each other than anything else. It was how she and Callen usually practiced, as well, since he loved to tell her she wouldn't get protective gear in the real world.

Callen was at her side in an instant, checking her over and convincing himself she was still whole and in one piece.

Nell tasted blood and knew she'd bitten her tongue. Other than that, after her surprise wore off, she knew she'd be fine. Cameron had been holding back, and though it might leave a mark, she'd taken far worse in other situations.

Not that it mattered to Callen.

By the time she composed herself, Callen was facing the other agent. "What. Was. That?"

It rose Cameron's hackles; there was no doubt about the threat in Callen's posture or tone. He immediately became defensive, especially when Callen took a few steps toward him. "It was an easy block, I thought –" he broke off, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Nell. Are you okay?"

She nodded, waving at him as if to say it was alright and she forgave him. Callen zeroed in on the first thing Cameron had said. "It's _her_ fault that you punched her in the face?"

Cameron looked between them, trying to figure it out. He felt like he was missing something. Or a lot of things. "That was hardly a punch! And it was an accident. Maybe _you _should have taught her better."

His words shook Nell out of her residual haze, alerting her to intervene if necessary. Cameron couldn't have picked a worse thing to say.

"It's my fault that you hit her?" Callen's voice was deadly in a way that sent chills up Nell's spine. "Why don't you take on someone who isn't still learning? Like me."

Cameron's first instinct was to accept – he felt bad about hitting Nell, but it had been an accident and she was fine. Callen was overreacting and it'd be more than satisfying to put him in his place. Then he looked at the senior agent and one of the things he was missing fell into place – _Agent G. Callen wanted to hurt him_.

There was an unsettling darkness in Callen's eyes that made Cameron involuntarily shudder. He'd never seen it before. And he didn't mean that he'd never seen it from Callen – he meant that he'd never seen it from _anyone _directed at him who was on their side of the law.

He knew Callen was tough, and not just from hearing about it; he'd seen it firsthand in how he fought and how he dealt with suspects. News spread fast around NCIS and he'd heard about his team's cases, especially the more dramatic ones. Some of the stories about him made him sound like a legend, but Cameron had done his research and he knew what was true. The man had been shot a half dozen times and pulled through. He'd been closer to death in dozens of situations than most people got a few times in their life. He had to begrudgingly admit that if anyone in the building deserved the kind of myth that had built around him, it was Agent Callen. And despite everything he'd ever heard about him – rumors or truth – Cameron had never heard of him losing it, not even with a suspect, not in the way Cameron _knew _he would if he agreed to fight him right then.

Personally, no matter what they accomplished, he'd always thought Callen and his team were reckless, bordering on dangerous to the public at large. They only got away with as much as they did because of the indulgence of Henrietta Lange and, to some extent, Owen Granger. He kept waiting for the day they screwed up beyond anything Lange or Granger could protect them from, and it never happened. He didn't know if it was a testament to their skills, or if they kept skating by on sheer luck (he suspected it was an odd combination of the two).

They were a strangely close group, more than any other team he'd seen. Their devotion to each other was hard to understand. Cameron (and everyone else) could see it, yet no one truly understood it. There was loyalty to one's team, and then there was putting them above everything else, and the latter seemed mostly true when it came to them. In fact, it was long-standing knowledge around work that they were so close it was nearly impossible for new members to join them. Cameron had seen many try and fail. He didn't know how Deeks managed, though from what he knew of the man, he'd probably badgered them until they had to accept him or kill him. Nell had been the other exception. Her first day, people had been placing bets on how long she'd last, and it seemed the very next day she was with them and no one questioned it. Ever.

If it was near impossible to join them, it was harder than that to separate them. Cameron knew because he'd been trying. He liked Nell a lot, and not only on a personal level. He would have accepted her onto his team in a second. He'd tried to recruit her several times, and she'd never been remotely interested.

Her steadfast insistence on staying with Callen's team had long mystified him. When she started training with Callen, Cameron had asked her if she was in a relationship with him and she'd become completely flustered, denying it up and down. Yet there was something off with the two of them. They didn't act like two normal co-workers, and he'd concluded that Callen was leading her on, not sure he wanted to be with her, but not wanting her to be with anyone else, either. Did he think she'd sit around waiting for him forever? It had cemented his view of Callen as incredibly selfish, and maybe manipulative. It was completely unfair to Nell, and he'd subtly tried to open her eyes. Infuriatingly, she chose to remain purposefully blind.

For the life of him, he hadn't been able to figure out why. Until that day.

Callen glanced back at Nell who had been hovering slightly behind him, unsure of where their argument would lead. Cameron didn't know what it was – the way Callen stared at her for too long, or the way he relaxed slightly when he did, or something else he couldn't put into words. And Nell…her eyes changed when she looked at Callen, almost like she lit up from the inside out. That was one of the strange things he'd never been able to put his finger on about them, at least not until it happened in front of him. He'd never seen her look at anyone else that way.

Cameron's confusion cleared away, the truth crystallizing before him: he'd unintentionally hurt the most important person in Callen's life. Callen had probably never told her – maybe he didn't even know – but it was obvious. At least to Cameron, and apparently not so much to Nell.

He'd be damned if he got into the middle of their personal life. Callen and Nell could work it out. Maybe. He saw the future going two possible ways: their pattern of denial and general lack of emotional awareness would blow up one day and they'd destroy each other, or they'd eventually come to their senses and be happy. His instinct for self-preservation meant he didn't want to be part of either scenario (however, that didn't mean he would stop hassling them – that was far too much fun to stop).

He decided there was no way he was going to fight Callen that morning, or probably ever again. When Callen finally turned back to him, Cameron held his hands up in silent apology and announced he'd had more than enough for the day. He left as quickly as he could without making it seem like he was running away.

Like any great story, it spread around their workplace, growing more fantastic with each retelling. Three days later, Deeks gleefully reported that he'd heard that during a friendly sparring session, Cameron had tripped and fallen into Nell, knocking her over, and Callen had attacked him in a rage while Nell cheered him on.

They tried their best to set things straight, and while they'd successfully convinced people they had _not _beaten Cameron half to death (come on, Kensi pointed out, the man was walking around as unmarred and beautiful as ever), the rumor of their craziness remained, and spread rapidly around the building.

It wasn't a hard thing to convince people of – in fact, the rumor circulated easily because people _wanted_ to believe it. Anyone who'd seen them fight knew how good they were, and they were also aware of how much time Callen and Nell spent together. Apparently, it wasn't far-fetched for their co-workers to believe their dedication to each other led to them attacking anyone who threatened them. No one really knew what went on between them, although there were plenty of theories, each one more absurd than the next. (Callen's favorite was that he was training Nell to go on an undercover black operation with him where they would infiltrate a terrorist cell by posing as members.)

Nell found it more humorous than anything. The rumor wasn't that either of them _individually_ was crazy, it had become _Callen and Nell together are crazy_ – like they would have been fine on their own, but mixed together they ignited and became dangerous to anyone in their vicinity. As a result, Nell had a harder time than Callen finding new people to train with her. If she managed, they were hyper-aware of not harming her because they'd heard about how Callen attacked people for looking at her the wrong way.

Cameron's kept it up, too. He likes to remind everyone of the rumors whenever possible. He feels it's akin to a civic duty, reminding their co-workers what they're dealing with when it comes to Callen and Nell. Despite the silliness of the whole thing, Cameron _knows_ he wouldn't have gotten out of a fight with Callen uninjured the day he'd hit Nell – not unless she'd stepped in to help him.

He's thinking about how happy he is to not be part of Granger's training when their boss approaches him. "Don't be too smug, Cameron," Granger says. "Your team goes next week."

Great. Maybe he'll come down with an imaginary case of the flu. He turns back to the mats, where Nell's trying to talk Callen out of his anger. It's been over three months, and he wonders how it's possible that they still don't know. Or do they simply pretend not to know? He never thought 'scared' would be a way to describe either of them, but maybe their relationship is too important to them. Maybe it's the one thing they can't afford to ruin and they'll permanently remain at their impasse where neither gets what they want. Damn, when he finds himself feeling bad for Callen, of all people, he knows he's losing it. He moves to the other side of the gym before he can say anything to Callen remotely in the vicinity of 'nice'. Or even neutral, for that matter.

Nell's relieved once Callen stops looking like he wants to kill someone, though she knows he's still upset. She finds his protectiveness sweet, but he and Cameron have this weird vibe between them that she doesn't like, mostly because she's afraid Cameron will one day provoke Callen into doing something that will cause him professional grief. As such, she's taken it upon herself to get between them whenever she fears their hostility might blow up in their faces.

"I think it's time to switch partners," Callen suggests. He knows Nell's reaching her limit with Eric, and he's sick of pretending his entire focus for the day hasn't been on her. He might as well work with her; it'll make it easier to watch her without arousing suspicion and getting continually beat by Sam.

Besides, he knows that being around her is the best way for him to calm down. It's been true for a few months now, and he has no idea when it began, only that it works.

**XXXXXX**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **It's taking a little longer for me to update since I'm finishing up this story & trying to tie up loose ends. As ever, I love all your feedback!

**XXXXXX**

Eric's glad he's escaped Nell, hopefully for the rest of the morning. He loves her, but he doesn't want to wonder if she's secretly planning any further acts of revenge. Plus, it'd be nice to have a partner who isn't wandering off every five minutes…then Kensi joins him and he suddenly wants Nell back.

"Are you sure you want to work with me, Kensi? I'm terrible. Beyond terrible. If you could take a gentle approach –"

"Oh, Beale," she says sympathetically. "I'm going to make you tougher. Even if I have to beat that toughness into you."

"I don't – how would that work?"

"Trust me," she says, in a way he absolutely does not trust. "You're going to be a new man when I'm done with you."

"No, I don't need to be new. I don't want to be new. I'm fine being old –"

She rushes him and he freezes in terror. The next thing he knows, he's on his back and blinking at Kensi above him. "Why didn't you try to stop me?" She bounds back to her feet with uncanny speed. "You need a lot of work."

"Like I didn't already know that." He grimaces in pain as he sits up. "I hope you gave me a hernia or a fracture, anything to get out of this."

"What have you been teaching him, Nell?" Kensi asks, implying the other woman's at least partly to blame.

"I certainly didn't tell him to pretend he's a statue and let himself get bulldozed! You're making me look bad, Eric," Nell chastises, though she can't help feeling sorry for him. It's apparent to the entire room that he's out of his league, and she hopes Granger will take pity on him soon.

"I'm very sorry that my lack of skills reflects poorly on you," he says snidely, making a show of checking his ribs for injuries.

"How many times have I told you to always pay attention when –"

In a cosmic twist (that Nell brings entirely on herself), Callen launches a surprise attack and she's on the mat before she can process what's happened.

He's back on his feet as quickly as Kensi had managed, and close to gloating about how easy that was. "What was that about paying attention?"

"Not fun, is it?" Eric asks Nell, starting to smirk until she shoots him a look and he wipes the expression from his face.

"Get up," Kensi orders Eric. "That was only round one. We've got miles to go, my friend."

"Nell, I'm sorry I dropped you through no fault of my own. Please, take me back," Eric begs, as Kensi tells him they're going to keep going until she breaks him in.

"Godspeed," Nell tells him, somberly, as Sam joins them to mediate. He'll keep Eric alive. Probably.

She realizes she's still on the mat when Callen holds his hand out to pull her up. She doesn't know if it's a genuine offer or another trick. She places her bets on the latter and flings her leg out to try and sweep his legs out from under him. He jumps back at the last second. "Unsportsman like conduct. I offered you my hand in good faith."

She gets to her feet, brushing her hands off. "Sure you did."

"Now we'll never know."

Fighting with him shouldn't be as much fun as it is, and she means that both physically and verbally. "Why'd you want to switch partners?" She asks. "Miss me? I think you've become unnaturally dependent if you can't get through one morning without me."

He could accuse her of the exact same thing. "No reason other than to mix it up a little."

"We spend the majority of our week together. Us fighting is not mixing it up, by any means."

"Fine," he relents, "you know we work better together than with anyone else."

"Most of the time," she allows. "There are exceptions."

"None that matter." He waits until she meets his eyes. "I keep you from throttling Eric, you keep me from…" his voice fades, as he tries to put it into words. "You know, I find you…calming."

No, she didn't know. She's kind of skeptical about it, too.

"Totally agree," Deeks says, as he walks by sipping his water, "the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Nell is 'calming'." He winks at her slyly and she can't help 'accidentally' taking a step forward in a way that conveniently trips him. He falls right into Callen and the water in his bottle splashes everywhere.

"Nell," Deeks whines, as Callen levels a glare at her (he'd seen her intentions probably before she'd taken the step). "That's not how you demonstrate tranquility."

"It was an accident. Besides, Callen caught you, didn't he?"

"Thanks, man. You're a good friend," Deeks says seriously, patting Callen on the back while also awkwardly holding the bottle of water. It starts tipping again and Callen grabs it before he can get completely soaked.

"Learn to hold this upright." He shoves the bottle at Deeks' chest and pushes the other man back toward his mat. "There you go. Seriously, can't anyone have a conversation around here without _everyone else _joining in?"

"Speak up a little guys," Kensi requests, from the next mat over. "I'm having trouble hearing you."

"I don't think they're capable of minding their own business," Nell alleges, conveniently ignoring that she and Callen are as guilty of that as the rest of their team. "Where's Granger to keep them in line?"

"Haven't seen him," Callen says, slowly.

"Did he leave? Please tell me I missed him leaving and that Hetty's in charge."

Callen watches her kind of oddly…wait, she knows that look –

"Jones!" Granger says, from directly behind her, as she spins around. "Do you have a problem with my leadership today?"

"No. Not at all," she says hurriedly. "You didn't let me finish, sir. I was going to say, I hope you left because…you've earned a well-deserved break."

He doesn't buy it for a second. "You're lucky I like you, Jones," he says, and glances at Callen. "Especially considering the company you keep."

"You and your jokes, sir," Callen nods. "Always funny."

"Go back to pretending as if you're doing something productive," he orders and then walks off, mumbling to himself.

Once she sees that he's distracted by Sam and Deeks, Nell confronts Callen. "Is Hetty teaching him about the secret passageways around here? How long was he behind me? You couldn't tell me he was there?"

"I…didn't see him," he tries to lie.

"I would have warned _you_," she argues.

He almost laughs. "No, you would not. My proof is that you never do."

"I would, if it was really warranted. Most of the time, you kind of deserve not being warned."

"Situational awareness, Nell. We've been over this, though I guess we need to practice more. You're clearly slipping."

"I'm not slipping. Don't make me play another round of trying to find you in my apartment's parking lot." That had been brutal. Her neighbors had called the cops on them, thinking they were either casing the complex or attempting to steal cars.

"That lot is a predator's dream of hiding places, Nell. You're welcome that I pointed out the blind spots for you."

"Yeah, you know my favorite spot? Sitting in the back of that cruiser waiting for the police to verify our badges."

He's not the slightest bit sorry. "Wildest Saturday night you've had in a long time, am I right?"

She presses her hands to her temples and wonders why she hasn't learned by now – the more she complains about something, the more Callen thinks it's working, as if her annoyance is directly proportional to how much any given technique is helping her.

Callen snaps his fingers and points to the mat in front of him, indicating they should get started. "At least Granger didn't notice we switched partners."

"It's not that I don't notice," the assistant director calls, frowning when Eric tries to use him as a buffer from Kensi. "I've merely decided I don't care anymore. Let's put it this way – how much worse can the morning get?"

"How did he hear us?" Callen asks Nell.

"Just because I'm a few years older than you does not mean I can't hear you," Granger informs them.

"A few?" Callen asks skeptically, as Nell hisses at him to shut up.

"Agent Callen!" Granger knows the odds of dying from a stroke rise nearly ten-fold every time he has to coach one of these trainings (he's done the math).

"Yeah, we're setting up," Callen insists. "Nell's taking her time, as usual."

Nell's sure she couldn't look more exasperated if she tried. "I'm standing right in front of you. I've been ready for twenty minutes." She's not even done speaking when he dives at her. She appreciates the straight-forward approach, knowing exactly how to annoy him. She waits until the last second and spins away. He manages to grab her arm but can't keep hold of her when she twists away from him. Without her to stop his momentum, he ends up several paces behind her, near the edge of the mat.

"What was that?" He asks, despite knowing full well what it is, and it irritates him as much as it usually does.

"That's evasion. Eric's a master at it, by the way. Usually."

Eric gives her a half-hearted salute from where he's been pinned to the mat – again – by Kensi.

"Well done, Jones." Granger makes a show of checking off his clipboard.

"Doesn't avoiding each other kind of defeat the point of this training?" Callen asks their boss. "Besides, you know she's only doing it to annoy me." He belatedly realizes that explanation will make Granger _more _in favor of her strategy.

"You're right. Maybe she should get two points: one for avoiding you and one for annoying you," Granger suggests. "Evasion's in the manual. It counts."

"If running away counts, why don't we play hide and seek around the building instead of training in the gym?" Callen asks.

"I've had enough of that already," Nell says. "You and your 'strategic hiding skills'."

"You need to think of better places."

That was completely unfair. Her spot in the clothing racks had been brilliant. "You only found me due to Deeks not understanding what it means when someone hides."

"Callen asked where you were," Deeks tries to defend what had been a simple mistake. "How was I supposed to know it was one of your weird trainings? I'm not psychic."

"Want to prove yourself?" Callen challenges Nell, far too sure of himself. "Think of a new spot. I'll wager I could find you within five minutes."

"Not if I go home. That'll take longer than five minutes."

"I didn't include commute times." He starts calculating. "If I factor in the twenty-three minute drive for route B – no wait, today would be route C –"

"Construction," Nell reminds him.

"Add seven minutes, then. Or I could go with E. I don't think E is used enough, it's two minutes shorter, and it goes right by that great Chinese place."

Kensi has to chime in on this one. "You know how long it takes to get to her place? For every route?"

"It's not that hard to remember," Callen tells her, matter of factly. "You're acting like I _shouldn't_ know. I know how to get to everyone's place. It's kind of essential knowledge."

"Yeah, but how do you know the exact time?" She sounds suspicious. "What's the time to get to my place? The main route."

How should he know that? "I have no idea, when was the last time I came over? Was it the last game night?"

"You should remember considering you cheated your way through half of the games."

"Hey," he insists, pointing at Kensi, "that game of charades was completely within bounds."

"You can't use sign language in charades!" Kensi looks to Nell, as if expecting the other woman to admit her part in it.

Nell takes a step back and holds up her hands. "Don't look at me, I didn't even want to learn it." It had actually been Hetty's suggestion for her and Callen to practice sign language as a way to communicate silently – the older woman's plan had been to expand it to other agents if successful. Those lessons with Hetty had not gone well. They'd only gotten through the alphabet and a few basic words. After too many arguments between Callen and Nell about the clarity of each other's signs, they'd stopped going to Hetty's makeshift classes and their boss had wisely put her pilot program on hiatus. Nell knows Callen's kept up with it. In fact, it surprises her that he hasn't mentioned it lately and urged her to go back to it.

"You should go back to it, Nell."

There it is. She signs 'no' at him (that one had always been the most useful). "Thanks, Kensi, for reminding him of this topic."

Callen nearly does a double take at her hypocrisy. "I forgot this is my fault. You had nothing to do with game night, right Nell?"

Kensi picks up on what Callen's implying. "You're not exactly innocent, Nell. You should have called him out, not played along. I expect better from you."

Nell can't believe that Kensi's turned on her. "What happened to sticking together against the guys, no matter what? That was a sacred promise."

Kensi's instantly filled with guilt at the reminder. They'd made a pact long ago to always back each other up; it made sense in a male-dominated job like theirs. They rarely needed it, or acknowledged it, but it was nice to know they always had it to fall back on. "Sorry. Callen manipulated me into thinking you shouldered some of the blame."

"It's okay, I forgive you," Nell tells her, sending a triumphant glance Callen's way.

Callen watches the exchange with growing awe. Nell's turned him into the villain with the simple reminder of an old promise, and Kensi has completely – and voluntarily – ignored all signs of Nell's guilt. And make no mistake, Nell's as guilty as he is. She enjoys skirting the rules as much as he does (he likes to take credit for her increasing willingness to view the world in shades of grey).

Every so often, his mind wanders to a scenario where Nell's plotting to take over their team, then their headquarters, then NCIS altogether. Maybe more than that. It would sound crazy to anyone else, but he knows better. He's seen the ways she accomplishes her goals, stepping outside the lines if necessary. He's also seen the kind of cunning from her that reminds him of Hetty. He thinks it should worry him that if he's caught glimpses of it on occasion, he probably misses the vast majority of what Nell carries out behind the scenes, with no one the wiser. It's also during those times that he's inordinately thankful that she likes him. She's one of the few people in the world that if he got on their bad side, he doesn't know how he'd escape unscathed (and maybe part of that is because he knows he could never hurt her, not even to save himself).

Under most circumstances, Callen would let Kensi's condemnation slide and accept full blame. However, Nell's increasingly smug looks compel him to defend himself – he can't let her think it's that easy to get away with things.

He makes sure he has Kensi's attention. "Nell and I weren't talking, therefore it wasn't against the rules. If you had a problem with it, you should have specified at the beginning of game night that it wasn't allowed. Or picked up on it before round fifteen. Don't you all _investigate crimes _for a living? How did you miss it?"

"The vast amounts of wine might have…affected our observational skills," Kensi mutters.

"Most importantly, it's not like I was signing things to _myself_." He doesn't glance Nell's way, sure she'll be none too happy at how easily he turned the tide back on her.

"You shouldn't let him talk you into these schemes," Kensi mildly scolds Nell. "You're better than that kind of underhandedness."

"I know," Nell drops her head in faux shame. "I'm trying. He just insists that I go along with his –"

She inhales sharply when Callen grabs her, pulling both her arms behind her back. "Liar. You're lying. Admit it."

"Never," she swears, and he responds by pressing one of his hands to the back of her neck. It's one of her greatest weaknesses, to the point that Callen won't touch her there when they spar because of the insanely unfair advantage it gives him when she inevitably collapses (she's been trying to work on that, and hasn't made much progress). In fact, she'd be on the mat right then if he weren't basically holding her upright. "Stop!"

"Not until you come clean."

At that point, Nell's laughing too hard to respond.

"Callen…" Kensi thinks about intervening, but Nell doesn't seem to be in actual distress. "This kind of behavior is unacceptable. You're intimidating her. Uh, I think?" Truthfully, she doesn't know what the hell's going on.

"Oh, is that what this is? I'm intimidating Nell and forcing her to go along with _my_ schemes?" He leans closer to Nell's ear. "You want to confess, Nell. I know you."

"Okay," she gasps, "I give, I give." Callen lets go of her and she sheepishly turns to Kensi. "It was my idea to use sign language that night."

Kensi gasps in horror, as if she's just learned that her entire life is a lie. "Nell! Why?"

"I wanted to win," Nell confesses. "You were all pretty drunk. And you deserved it from how you kept harassing me about…" she hesitates, glancing at Callen. "Various things. It was easy payback. If it makes you feel any better, I'm ashamed."

"No, you're not," Callen calls her out on that, too.

"Fine, I'm not," she manages through gritted teeth, then turns to Callen. "You couldn't give me that one? I can't believe you gave me up. I thought we'd always lie for each other."

"Me too, until you blamed everything on me."

"Like it's my fault that Kensi believed me over you? I'm better at this than you."

"Not entirely, or you wouldn't have admitted your guilt as easily as you did."

"Sorry that I have a conscience," Nell retorts. "Obviously you'd use it against me."

"It's not only your conscience," he says, touching the back of her neck and smirking when she jerks away from him. "But you keep telling yourself that."

Kensi's been following along the best she can, and she thinks she gets it. "You're both insane. No wonder you've memorized the time it takes to get to her apartment."

Callen can't believe she's stuck on that. "We train together a lot, especially on weekends. When we leave late, I often drive her home. It's a perfectly reasonable thing to know."

In the world of 'Callen and Nell', where at least 75% of the things they consider normal are nothing that outsiders understand, Kensi supposes it makes sense (because she sure can't think of anyone else who could plan their drive to a co-worker's home down to the minute). "I guess it's not as creepy as it initially seemed, I mean, I was picturing you driving by her place at random times. That'd be a little questionable, bordering on –" She catches the slightly guilty look on Callen's face. "_Oh my god_, you've done that."

"For valid reasons," he argues.

"It's true," Nell rushes to his defense. "He'll come by occasionally to make sure things are fine. See, I thought someone was following me for a little while. At one point I was convinced I had a stalker."

"You do!" Kensi yells. "It's _Callen_!"

Nell shrugs in honest confusion. "I find his concern sweet."

Kensi opens her mouth to speak, then stops. She does that a few more times, then spins on her heel and walks toward the benches.

Callen shrugs off her odd reaction at the fact that he and Nell care about each other (it seems to happen more lately than ever). 'Ready?' He signs to Nell.

"Are you going to do that the rest of the morning?"

'Maybe' he signs.

"I will break your hands."

'No you won't,' he signs. 'You're far too nice for that, Nell.'

"I'm not as nice as…" Oh great. Three months of keeping it a secret and she'd given it away that easily.

He watches her with dawning realization. "You knew what I said."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," he's astonished, and he knows her well enough now that she doesn't astonish him easily. "How long have you known more than basic signs?"

She gives up; there'll be no talking her way out of it. "I didn't know before Hetty tried teaching us, if that's what you're asking. I kept up with it after we quit. I had to. I knew you were going to use it against me if I didn't."

"This whole time you've been pretending you didn't know. For shame, Nell. For shame."

"Don't pretend like you're not impressed."

He tips her head back and searches her eyes, trying to figure out how she got this past him. "Oh, I'm impressed. I'm also annoyed that you made me use the alphabet for months. I spelled out 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'. That was like –" he starts counting on his fingers and then gives up. "Dozens of signs. When I could have done it in four!"

Since she's coming clean… "I knew it after 'Eternal'; I let you keep going for my own amusement."

He'd thought it was odd when she claimed she'd never heard of that movie. "We almost lost because of you. Deeks was watching me that whole time. He was _catching on_."

"He was watching you because you kept looking at him. Your paranoia nearly cost us the game."

No way, he's not taking the full blame. "My paranoia? What about your lies? We could have won much sooner if we'd been honest with each other."

"And missed half the enjoyment of watching everyone else slowly lose."

"Good point," he allows. "I have to say it was worth it."

"Of course it was. We swept the floor with them."

"Yeah, we did." He high fives her and then seizes the opportunity to pull her closer. "You win this round. Don't get used to it."

'Is that a challenge?' She signs.

'If you want it to be,' he signs back. 'Go ahead and keep lying to me, like you love to do. See what happens.'

She grins at his acceptance of her methods. "I wouldn't say I _love _–"

She breaks off when he lunges at her, and their fight isn't as clean this time; she tries to evade him again (since he enjoys that so much), but she fails. He manages to get an arm around her neck and she wonders if he's going to try one of the new techniques. Before he can (maybe) think about it, she twists, wrapping a leg around one of his and throwing herself backwards. They both go down and he has to let go of her so that neither of them get hurt.

He's never gone back on his promise, from the beginning, that he'd avoid hurting her at all costs. They'd both injured each other accidentally, but neither had ever suffered anything more than some occasional bruises or (in Nell's case) a mild wrist sprain. There were also a fair number of times Callen's hit the floor to avoid her getting injured, and because of that, she trusts him in a way she trusts no one else.

A shadow falls over them and she glances up to find Granger shaking his head and writing on his clipboard. "Items 48 and 49," he mumbles, flicking a glance at her. "This is my 'G. Callen and Nell Jones List'. Things for you two to work on."

"You know we're two of the best you have, right?" Callen hates when Granger acts as if they're delinquents (or worse, ineffective) because they…choose to do things their way.

"Debatable," Granger says.

Callen wants to yell at him, and then Nell reaches over to touch his hand and his anger evaporates. "No, it's not," he says, with a calmness he owes entirely to her.

It's not that Granger disagrees with Callen, per se, it's that admitting it could cause a whole host of problems, including having yet more agents decide they want to follow the Callen and Nell school of _pissing him off_. And frankly, although Callen's team is fine adopting those methods, he can think of plenty of agents who won't be able to pull it off without hurting others or getting themselves injured.

He can't help Callen and Nell become role models, and he certainly won't endorse them if they ever manage it (and he knows they're a lot closer to it than he's comfortable with). "Can't you two play by the rules for once? For me? You owe me."

They exchange glances, both of them surprised to hear their boss pleading.

"Alright," Callen says, cautiously.

"Fine with me," Nell agrees.

"Want to call the last round a tie?" Callen suggests, since she'd taken him down, but he'd chosen to let her go instead of countering. She nods and he lets their agreement lull him into a false sense of security, especially with Granger standing right there. He figures Nell will stay within bounds to win approval. He should know to never trust her (after all, this is the same woman who'd admitted not five minutes earlier that she taught herself sign language and then deliberately kept it secret from him).

As he starts to stand, she pounces on his back, twisting his right arm behind him and pushing him back to the mat. He had no idea it was coming and has no way to react or throw her off, since they both know he'll hurt himself if he tries to flip over or wrench his arm free.

He knows it's the position where she probably would have gotten her arm broken if the instructor hadn't intervened, all those years ago, and the memory infuriates him all over again. Unlike her former partner, Nell isn't sadistic, and she lets him go the second she declares a point for herself.

He sits up to face her and shakes out his arm – that move is usually painful. It has to be to work.

She notices the anger in his eyes and second-guesses herself, wondering if she'd really upset him by doing that.

He instantly notices her self-doubt and shakes his head. "Not you I'm angry at." He leans forward and absently wraps a hand around her ankle. "It's never you."

She's reassured by that, though she can't help wondering what's going on. "You're upset." He doesn't respond to that, and she makes the sign for 'why' without consciously thinking about it.

"I remembered who taught you that move."

Now she gets his reaction. "You're lucky I'm not out of my mind like she was."

He stands up, pulling her with him in an automatic motion she can't decline, or avoid. "Luck has nothing to do with it. You're a good person." The fact that Sara wasn't remains both unspoken and implied. She leans against him in silent acknowledgement, and thanks.

Callen expects Granger to inform Nell she'd broken their agreement not two minutes after it was made, but the older man says nothing. "Really? You're going to ignore it?"

"Ignore what? She was following the rules. I didn't see anything unfair." Granger's infuriatingly smug.

"Okay, you didn't see that. I can buy that your eyesight's that bad."

Granger taps his clipboard. "I've added number 50 to my list, you two can collect your copy on the way out."

Callen pulls on Nell's shirt sleeve to get her attention. "You'll pay for that, by the way."

"Sure I will," she replies, making a show of smoothing out her sleeve. It's really up for debate if he wants to put her in her place, or hug her instead.

"Stop complaining," Sam calls, saving him from having to make the choice. "You're sounding like Deeks over there." Sam might be a bit upset since Deeks has just successfully pinned him. Granger goes over, furiously writing on his clipboard the entire way (everyone in the room wants to burn it).

Callen shudders at the comparison to Deeks. "Withdrawn. I concede the point to Nell."

"As if I need you to concede for the point to count," Nell says, backing away when he reaches over to playfully shove her, or mess up her hair, or whatever else he might have planned.

"Maybe I was going to hug you," he says, as if reading her mind.

"You were not. How gullible do you think –"

He pulls her into a hug (to prove her wrong), and she puts up a token protest until she can break free. She tries to scold him, but the words die on her lips and all she ends up doing is smiling, a reaction she can't help.

"This is one of my most humiliating days in recent memory," Sam grumbles as Deeks continues to revel in his (singular) victory. "Meanwhile, you two are over there laughing and hugging. I'm glad you're not letting the rest of us get in the way of your date."

Callen won't take the bait. "You could always hug Deeks."

"Come here, buddy." Deeks advances on Sam who stops him with a look.

Hetty wanders through as Granger calls everyone over to him for a summary of what they've achieved (or failed to achieve) so far that morning. Hetty nods to Callen and Nell to stay with her for another minute. "If Mr. Hanna thinks he's humiliated from losing one round, imagine how he'd feel if I let Owen set up a whiteboard to keep track of points, like he wanted." She'd shot down the idea as too competition-oriented; Callen and Nell waste no time reinforcing her opinion.

"I'd be winning," Nell asserts.

"No way, I'd be ahead of you," Callen argues.

Hetty lets them bicker for a minute before informing them, "Neither of you would be allowed on the board."

"Not fair, Hetty," Nell sulks. "How come?"

"You know why," Hetty says, watching them disapprovingly.

Callen glances at his sparring partner. "I believe Hetty's implying that our points wouldn't be obtained fairly."

Nell knows Hetty has an argument to make there. Not that it matters. "It's fine, it's not like we need a scoreboard to know that we're leagues ahead of the others."

Callen throws an arm around her shoulders and grins. "It's like you speak my language."

Hetty has the perfect wrench to throw into their endless cycle of self-congratulations. "Speaking of language, I wanted to tell you both that I was very impressed earlier at how you've become close to fluent in signing. The newest recruits are coming through next month and I have quite the honor planned – you're my two new instructors for American Sign Language 101."

They immediately start protesting that they'd be terrible at the job. Hetty could rival Granger with her current level of self-satisfaction.

"Nonsense, you two will be perfect. Clearly you both enjoyed learning, yet hated my instruction. Why else would you have ditched my classes and then continued learning on your own?" She bites back a smile when neither of them has an answer for her. "If my teaching leaves so much to be desired, I shouldn't be in charge of a class. But you two…you can teach together. Your styles complement each other so well."

She carefully sets her face to stone, and once they realize they'll have no luck arguing with her, Callen and Nell turn on each other. They both insist the other would be best suited to teach the class alone (as if there's any way she's going to let either of them off the hook).

Hetty will tell them later that they don't have to worry – she'd never subject the new recruits to them. Veteran agents, however…oh yes, it's perfect. She heads to her office to print sign-up sheets – she wants to get them passed out before Owen's training is over.

**XXXXXX**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **How come every time I edit a chapter it gets longer? Oh well! This is the second to last chapter. Thanks to everyone who has enjoyed this, you make me want to continue posting.

**XXXXXX**

After Hetty disappeared for about a half hour, Nell hoped they'd gotten a reprieve. Unfortunately, their boss isn't yet that forgetful. She returns with a clipboard and calls Deeks and Kensi over to explain the torture she wants to inflict upon Callen and Nell.

Deeks skims the paper and then looks at Hetty with childlike glee, far too close to malicious. "A class taught by Callen and Nell? Against their will? I don't want to take it, nor do I care about the subject whatsoever – sign me up first. Top line, baby!" He scribbles on the paper with a flourish and throws the pen at Granger who considers stabbing him with it.

"If only you had as much enthusiasm for _actual_ NCIS requirements," Granger gives a long-suffering sigh.

"Torture more of my colleagues and I might," Deeks replies smartly.

"Believe me," Granger says, "I'm doing my best."

"Not that I'm in any way agreeing with this," Nell says, "but Hetty, what happened to new agents?"

"I changed my mind," the older woman informs them.

Callen knows Hetty sometimes has an odd sense of humor, and he's hoping this is one of those times. "This is an elaborate joke. We get it."

"We'll find out who's joking, Mr. Callen." Hetty nods at him and then walks away with Granger, the two of them discussing when to wrap up the morning.

"Don't you two worry," Deeks says. "I'm going to be front row, star pupil of the year. Not to brag or anything, but in school I was often known as the teacher's pet."

"Seriously?" Kensi can tell where this is going.

"Don't worry, Kens, I signed you up, too. And Nell, I might have had a thing for a few of my teachers back in the day. You better watch out."

He expects an eye roll, or a shove, and he shouldn't – she's too unpredictable now. "Really?" She takes a few steps toward him. "I find that intriguing. Maybe _you_ should be the one…watching out."

Deeks' retort dies instantly. He knows she's trying to turn the tables on him and he can't let her know that it's working. If she knows she has the upper hand, she'll go in for the kill. His eyes go from Callen to Kensi to Nell and back to Callen. For some reason, the other man's reaction seems to be the most important, even as he wants to yell at him: _You see what you've done? We're not even sparring and she's trying to psychologically outplay me_.

Callen's not showing any reaction, though (like the uncaring bastard that he is), and Deeks decides to up the stakes.

"You're right, Nell," he won't be outdone. "I should be watching out."

"Then you do that," she nods, taking another step closer to him. They're now less than a foot apart.

"I will. I mean, I am." Every instinct in Deeks yells at him to flee before she launches a surprise attack, or whatever else she's planning, but he won't give in first.

"Are you?" She leans in closer. "Because I don't think you could handle me."

"What the hell are we watching?" Callen asks Kensi when she comes over to stand next to him. Deeks and Nell are staring at each other, unblinking. It's unnerving.

"Don't ask me," Kensi says. "I've never been able to figure Deeks out. And Nell's your problem."

"That she is," he murmurs, affectionately.

Kensi's double take at him means she almost misses it when Nell surges forward and jumps up to kiss Deeks on the cheek. He's so startled thinking she's about to try and take him down that he stumbles backwards, arms windmilling in an attempt to keep his balance.

Callen grabs Nell's arm and pulls her away before she can traumatize Deeks any further. "I hope you're enjoying yourself."

She most definitely is. "It's way too easy to psych him out. Did you see his face?" She twists around to revel in her victory. Deeks is sputtering about unfair attacks (and how he'd probably escaped certain harm) to the uninterested audience of Kensi and Eric.

"I'll give you credit for ingenuity," Callen allows, "but you're unlikely to have much success with that particular strategy in the field."

She's silent for longer than he finds comfortable. "I don't know. It might work on some."

He begins to wonder if she's trying to psych _him _out this time. "Try to focus on why we're here today."

"To harass each other as much as possible?"

He has to admit her summary isn't far off. "I'm sure Granger would enjoy that outlook."

Despite the general air of everyone not taking the day seriously, somehow each one of them has managed to accomplish a few things to Granger's satisfaction, and they both hope their boss calls it a day soon. In the meantime, they have to wait it out. Her best strategy to pass the time (okay, mostly to have fun) is to antagonize Callen. "I hope you realize that you've fallen behind. I have around 47 points to your zero."

"Your math sounds exaggerated," Callen says dryly, taking in her deceptive stance – she seems relaxed when she's probably about to spring at him any second. It's times like these that he's inordinately proud of how far she's come.

"No, I'm definitely right." She rocks back and forth on her feet.

"Watch your footing this time," he absently reminds her.

"Or what, you'll drag me to the beach again?" She's trying, and failing, to sound annoyed. "Man, that day left me sore."

It had been around a month ago, training – or rather _attempting _to train on unforgiving sand. Callen had insisted it was a crucial skill, and she put up her usual token argument that she wouldn't be getting into many fights on public beaches. Their bickering was more of a formality than anything else. She'd come to enjoy the unconventional as much as he did.

Besides, she knew that his real desire that day had simply been to spend time near the ocean. And he'd wanted her there with him.

She wouldn't lie; it was a nice change, salt air and sea breeze and high 60's in January. Better than being stuck inside yet again.

That doesn't mean that fighting on the beach isn't damn near impossible, especially when Callen insisted they avoid the packed sand near the waves and set up in the deeper sand further back.

"What's the first weapon at your disposal, here?"

She didn't have to look far, kicking some sand at him with more viciousness than was warranted. _Walking _on sand was hard, how were they supposed to train on it?

"Perfect, right for the eyes. We're not going to do that today for obvious reasons."

"I'm grateful for small favors," she said, smoothing out the area around her feet to try and form a stable place to stand. She'd kicked off her shoes, and Callen followed suit, even as he mocked her that if she couldn't stand a bit of sand getting in them, she didn't have much hope against him that day (he was able to sidestep the shoe she threw at him in retaliation).

They sparred for a bit, not talking much, both content to enjoy their Saturday. It was exhausting, though, trying to move and balance, trying to pay attention to what she was doing when the sand and scenery kept distracting her.

She scrambled backwards one of the times he came at her, and brought her foot down on something sharp. "Wait, time –"

He tackled her anyway and the breath left her as she hit the sand. It wasn't as soft of a landing surface as one might expect. "Wait, Nell, were you calling time?"

"For all the good it did me." She sat up and started shaking out the back of her shirt.

"Sorry, heard you too late."

She rummaged around by her feet and found the culprit, a half-buried seashell. "I stepped on this."

He took it from her as she rubbed her foot. "That's why you needed to pause? A shell."

"It hurt!"

He pushed aside her hands and inspected the bottom of her foot. "There's not a mark on you."

She yanked her foot away and struggled to stand, nearly falling over again when a pile of sand gave way under her. "There could have been."

He couldn't hide his amusement. "Okay."

"You remember this next time, when it does pierce my foot and I get a blood infection. And then I die. Bet you won't be laughing then."

"Assuming I buy into that insane scenario," he flung the shell as far as he could down the beach, "then I've just saved your life, my lady. I expect a proper thank you."

She started laughing at his earnestness, affection for him nearly overwhelming her. Before she could quiz him on what constituted a 'proper thank you', shouts from some nearby teenagers interrupted them. She reached up to catch a wayward frisbee before it could clip her in the face. She threw it back and the wind caught it, forcing one of the kids to chase it almost into the water.

"Sorry!" She called, though she'd already lost their attention.

She turned back to Callen who appeared more content than normal. She wondered if he was remembering his days on the beach as a kid. She hoped so; if anyone deserved their happy memories, it was him. She wished he'd had more.

He caught her sudden smile. "What are you thinking about?"

"You. Building sandcastles."

He didn't know what to say to that, couldn't express his amazement that _his _good memories could inspire happiness in someone else. How did that happen?

Nell had gotten used to hearing less than pleasant things about his past. She'd mostly mastered the art of not reacting the way she always wanted to – had learned to hold back the anger at the horrible people he'd had to deal with in his life. She knew he wanted to leave certain parts of his past behind him, as much as he could, and she understood and respected that choice. As a consequence, she tried not to press at any of the places she knew were difficult for him to talk about.

Maybe it was the carefree mood of the day, or their easy enjoyment of it, because that day she broke her own rule and dared to press.

It was a short time later, when he'd come up behind her and grabbed her shoulders. She was supposed to get away from him, but the sand was bothering her and she was getting tired; she wouldn't have been able to pull it off. She shook her head slightly and he knew she was done.

"Too much?" He asked, easily shifting his stance from a potential threat to become more relaxed, sliding his arms over her shoulders and clasping them loosely over her collarbone.

"What's it been, three hours?"

He laughed. "More like one."

"Ugh. Maybe I'm getting old." She leaned back against him, and when he automatically rested his chin on top of her head, she found herself appreciating that her height allowed them to fit together perfectly. It felt silly to admit it (so she never had to anyone except herself), but she'd realized some time ago that although she could take care of herself now, she never felt as safe as she did with him. She'd accepted it as a foregone conclusion that could never be changed (and worse, she liked it). She also liked that he felt comfortable with her, to the point that he didn't need an excuse to touch her anymore.

It was easier to talk when she was watching the ocean instead of him, and she felt brave enough to ask a question she'd been wondering since she met him: "Does it bother you that you don't know your birth name?"

Of anything he'd expected her to ask, it wouldn't have been that, although he'd asked himself plenty of times in the past.

She took in his silence and quickly reached up to grasp his arms where they were wrapped around her. It was part silent apology in case her question hurt him, and partly a plea for him to not get angry and walk away.

He could practically feel her anxiety over thinking her question was a mistake. He pulled her closer, leaning down so his mouth was next to her ear, ensuring she could hear him over the wind. "It used to. Not anymore."

His answer encouraged her to keep going – before that moment, she hadn't been aware of the extent of her curiosity. "If someone told you they knew it, would you want to know?"

He was quiet for too long, to the point that she gave up expecting an answer. She hoped she hadn't overstepped her bounds (whatever they were nowadays).

At any other point in his life, his immediate answer to her question would have been a swift, unhesitating 'yes'. Things were different now, though. _He _was different, and he'd seen it happening for months (for years) and he didn't know why. "I honestly can't say if I'd want to know," he told her, the best answer he had.

She had given the topic a lot of thought over the past few months, and she believed she understood. Without meaning to, the words broke out of her, like she couldn't keep them in. "I think whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." Her words were strangely vehement. "The family you were born into, the people who treated you horribly as a kid, every single person who wasn't there for you – none of them get credit for the man you turned into. Whoever that little boy would have grown up to be if he'd had a different life…that's not who you _are_."

There was nothing he could say to that. She was right; he knew she was right. He'd often pondered the reality that if he'd had a normal life, he wouldn't have the career he did. He probably wouldn't even live in the U.S. Everything he'd experienced – the good, the bad, and the horrific – had led to his current life, his place in NCIS, and the gift of being surrounded by people he'd do anything for.

It had led to him standing on a beach in Los Angeles with her.

It would have been enough if Nell had stopped there, except a minute later she whispered, "I know who you are." He wouldn't have heard her if he hadn't already been so close. It was almost as if she didn't necessarily need him to hear it. Like it was enough – for her – that she felt it.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into her shoulder, and he had to struggle to breathe right again for a few minutes after.

He blinks again and he's not on the beach with her anymore, he's standing in the gym, watching her across the mat as she patiently waits, hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, like she knows what he's thinking.

Out of everyone…she just might.

"I know who you are, too." His words fill the air between them and he recognizes the change in her once she places what he's referring to, the way she slowly breaks into a smile that fills him, that fills the whole damn room.

"I'd hope so," she says lightly, almost adding that she hasn't been keeping any secrets. She can't say it, though, it's too much of a lie. In fact, it's more of a lie now than it ever was before.

Eric stops her self-reflection by illogically calling out to her for help. Kensi's pinned him again, and in that split second, Callen tries to take advantage. Nell's paying attention, though, and she manages to counter, taking him down instead. He's not content to give up without a fight, throwing her off of him and flipping them the second they hit the floor. She ends up on her back with him leaning over her, and she tries to get away (she really does) but she can't help laughing at her predicament, and his reaction of complete confusion isn't helping.

"You're not supposed to think this is funny," Callen says, holding her wrists to the mat.

"I know." The problem, strangely enough, is that she's happy. She's so damn _happy_ lately. Some of her amusement disappears when she meets his eyes. She wonders if he can read her true feelings. If so, he's never let on.

"Do I need to point out that your distraction is not helping you today? You need to work on that."

"It almost sounds like you're above distraction, Agent Callen."

"I am." He knows it's a mistake as he says it.

She considers not doing it, knows it might throw them off-balance – though would that be such a bad thing? She leans up to kiss him, a press of their lips that startles him into relaxing his hold on her wrists. It's exactly what she'd been aiming for and she launches herself upwards, pushing him back and jumping to her feet.

Truthfully, it isn't the kiss that knocks him sideways (he'd been warned from what she did to Deeks earlier), it's the fact that he'd been a second away from responding before she threw him off. He should know better than that.

He sits back, arm resting casually over his knees, as if she hasn't perturbed him in the slightest. Inside he's turning every which way. "What move was that?"

"It's in the revised guidelines," she informs him, half-smiling.

Sam waves the manual at them. Of course he'd been watching. "There's nothing of the sort in here. Don't believe her, G."

"I kind of want to, though," Callen strives for as nonchalant a tone as he can manage. "Think of how much fun that would be." He gets up without taking his eyes off Nell – for fear she might do something, or because he _hopes_ she will, he can't say.

"I want to believe, too," Deeks says, conveniently forgetting his earlier protests about how 'unfair' that tactic was. "Kensi, you need to get notes from Nell on how to pass the new test." Kensi hits him in the shoulder, but there's no heat behind it.

Callen can't think straight. He's torn between writing her kiss off as a surprise tactic, or acknowledging it as more. It _feels _like it's more, and he has no idea if that's wishful thinking on his part. He puts it aside, like he usually does. Like he has to.

"Nice trick, Nell," he keeps his voice as light as possible. "I guess it does have some merit after all."

That's not the reaction she wanted, and she only has herself to blame. They always look for ways to throw each other off. They always go too far. It's not his fault if he assumes this is yet another one of those times.

Or maybe he _does _understand and this is his way of letting her down easily and masking it to minimize her potential embarrassment.

That thought is actually sickening and she turns away, but not before he catches the glimpse of hurt in her eyes.

He starts sifting through every possible reason for it. "What's wrong?"

_Way too many things_, she thinks. "Nothing," she says.

He'd ask her again if he thought he'd get a different answer. And he'd ask her about the kiss if he weren't afraid of an answer he didn't want to hear. Anytime they get close to the question of what's between them, they both avoid it. He's not sure about Nell's reason, but his boils down to one fact: _He cannot lose her_ (and he's been waiting for it to happen since the beginning).

He figured that after a few sessions of training with him, there'd be no way she'd want to keep it up for the long-term. The entire first month, every time they finished a session, or she talked to him outside the gym, he'd been waiting for her to quit, for her to say she'd learned enough. He kept expecting her to say their styles didn't exactly mesh, or Kensi had more free time, or she'd outright changed her mind about training in the first place.

He had no idea why he felt that way, since he'd never gotten the sense she didn't want to be there. In fact, she seemed to enjoy their sessions more as time went on, as she learned more and they got to know each other better. It made him wonder why he was always waiting for her to quit.

Maybe he was just that used to people walking away.

It took him over a month, and their first real argument, to accept that she was going to stay. It was during session 18. It had been a long week, investigating a triple homicide (initially with a single victim – the next two had died while they tried to solve it), and she insisted on practicing that night anyways. He'd agreed because he couldn't say no to her, and he didn't want to go home alone, either.

He knew she wanted to work off some of her sadness; he couldn't blame her for that. Fighting each other that night was a terrible idea, though. He knew it and he let it happen anyway.

They weren't getting anywhere and it drove them to resent each other more every minute, exhaustion and misplaced anger rolling off them in waves. It came to a head when she kept missing the timing to get out of a hold, and he was sick of telling her the same things over and over with no results.

"Come on, Eric could do this on the first try," he said, words punctuated with every ounce of frustration he felt.

"Right," she scoffed, as they set up again, "if he could make sense of your contradictory instructions, more power to him." She missed the window of opportunity for a fifth time and he pulled them both down to the mat. The move wasn't supposed to end that way, but he was trying to prove a point. She was too tired to catch herself, and even though he made sure they didn't get hurt out of reflex, they both hit the floor jarringly.

"See what can happen when you don't pay attention? If I were even the mildest of threats, you'd be injured, or captured, or worse."

"You're a jerk," she muttered as she sat up, angling herself away from him to prop a hand under her chin and shut her eyes. "It's like you're trying to make me look bad."

How could she accuse him of that? He was trying to help her, not inflate his ego by humiliating her. She was selfishly acting like she was the only one upset over their last case, and his sudden anger propelled what he said next. "Six weeks in and this is where we are? Why don't you come back to me when you've actually learned something and aren't going to _waste my time_?"

Normally, he wouldn't have said something that petty, and if he did, she would have given back as good as she got. They'd fight until it was out of their systems and then start over again. But it wasn't a normal night – he hadn't checked himself and she didn't have her regular defenses.

Callen had no way of knowing that he'd twisted a dagger into one of her deepest vulnerabilities.

When she didn't respond, he decided retreat was the best option. He was halfway to the door when a whisper in the back of his mind – the part that had been subconsciously turning since she fell silent – told him to glance back. She was sitting where he'd left her, but her hands were over her face and she wasn't moving and he got this incredibly sick feeling like he'd destroyed something important to him and hadn't even known he'd done it.

"Nell?"

He walked back over, praying he was wrong, but the way she turned from him as he approached confirmed that he was right.

"Go away," she said, sniffing slightly and attempting to stand. It coincided with him dropping onto his knees beside her and he easily pulled her back down.

"I'm sorry," he tried, as his mind chanted at him to fix it. He didn't even know what to fix.

"For what?" She challenged, rubbing her eyes and feeling humiliation burn through her. It was practically her worst nightmare to be called out on her abilities (or lack thereof), and by someone she trusted, someone she respected (and cared for too much, too soon).

"For making you cry? For being a bastard? I don't know, for everything!" He was panicked, they both knew it, and though it made her feel slightly better, she couldn't shake what he'd said that easily.

"Forget it." She tried to stand up again as he put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down.

"Nell…"

"You can tell me," she hated how weak her voice sounded. "I want you to be honest. The past month, this whole time…have you been humoring me?"

He was too shocked to speak, trying to process such an absurd question, and he missed it when she pulled in a little further on herself, taking his silence as possible confirmation. "I get it. I know I'm good enough to be in NCIS, I just thought…I hoped with enough time and practice I could learn more." An even more depressing thought occurred to her. "You weren't doing this for Hetty, were you? She didn't ask you to say yes to me?"

In hindsight, reacting with anger wasn't his finest moment, and he was far closer to yelling than not when he accused, "You think that little of me?" He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, too, but it was hard and he didn't think he fully succeeded.

She was taken aback. "No. That's not what –"

"I must be doing this out of pity, or against my will because Hetty told me to?"

"Callen –"

"Stop." He couldn't remember the last time someone had so easily hurt him without even trying. "If you think I'm not capable of… genuinely wanting to help you, of caring about anything other than myself, then what are we doing here?"

"I didn't say that. I don't think that!" She cried. "And you're not being fair. You're the one who said I was wasting your time. What am I supposed to think?"

He took a deep breath at her words. They were true. The rational part of his mind reminded him that most of the emotions he was feeling (anger, distress, inadequacy) weren't about her, but about their last case. Not to mention that he was the one who'd unintentionally started their fight. "I'm sorry, Nell. I didn't mean that. I was angry and upset." He searched her face, willing her to believe him.

She saw that he was telling the truth and she couldn't hold it against him. She'd been unfair, too. "I don't actually think you're here because of Hetty," she admitted. "I know you better than that. And I certainly don't think you're uncaring. You care more than…anyone else knows."

He knew he wasn't the only one affected – they'd both been letting the last case get to them. "It's not enough, Nell. Today wasn't enough."

She looked like she might cry again, and that had been the opposite of his intention. "There are times when we can't fix things. I know we have to accept that, but some days…I can't."

"It's okay. I've been doing this a decade longer than you and sometimes I feel the same way." He sort of laughed in self-derision. "I mean, look at what happened, I started a stupid fight over nothing."

"To be fair, I willingly participated."

He carefully reached out, brushing his hand over her hair. He wanted to reiterate that he was doing this of his own free will, make sure she knew without a doubt that it had nothing to do with Hetty or anyone else. It only had to do with him, and her. "Nell, you have to know I wouldn't be here, with you, unless I wanted to be."

She swallowed, deciding she might as well be honest. "That accusation about you following orders? It wasn't as much about you as it's…" How did she explain? "There are times when I wonder if I'm coasting by and no one's discovered that I might not belong here."

He leaned back from her a little, having no idea how she could think she didn't belong with them. "What?"

"I look around at work, and you know we're surrounded by brilliant people. What if I'll never measure up?"

"You? _You _worry that you'll never measure up?" He started laughing in relief that her doubt wasn't about him, or their team. It was about her, and that was something he could try and fix. "I don't believe this. You mean to tell me you have the exact same doubts as everyone in the world? That you're human like the rest of us?" He watched her face to make sure he was on the right track, and when she started to smile, he knew he'd succeeded.

She took in what he was saying, trying to assuage her fears in the most light-hearted way he knew how. To try and get her out of her own head and remind her that everyone had felt the same way at some point in their lives.

"It's good to know," he was saying, "since I have to admit, there were times we'd wonder. You know, Eric thinks you're so perfect that he has this theory that the government implanted a computer chip –"

She cut him off by getting up on her knees and throwing her arms around his neck. She felt the moment he let go of his surprise to hug her back.

"Nell Jones, you don't belong anywhere else but here." His voice was somewhat muffled in her hair, and he hoped she knew how fervently he meant that statement. There was no good reason for anything that had ever happened to either of them. Decades of luck and chance and random decisions had led to her ending up on his team and in his life. He didn't have anyone to thank for that; he settled for hugging her a little tighter instead.

She held onto him for longer than she ever had before, and when she pulled back, her eyes were dry – still exhausted, but dry, and he was grateful. Some days were definitely harder than others. Thankfully, they were surrounded with people who would willingly help them through it.

They got up, both of them knowing enough to call it for the night. Callen also knew he had to face the inevitable and rubbed his eyes as if he could wipe away the tiredness. "Do you want to keep doing this?"

Her puzzled look indicated she was lost.

"You know how I can be. If you don't want to keep going…" He stared at his feet, black socks on the red mat; hers were yellow and sunny, every day a different bright color, cheerful and always making him smile. He liked that. He liked _her_.

"It was as much my fault as yours. We both overreacted."

He knew he had, but her? Her words had hurt and he'd instinctively denied them, but he really didn't believe that he was as good of a person as she seemed to think. It was her nature to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he hadn't earned it. "Come on, Nell. I made you cry."

She waved him off, wincing at the reminder. "I made myself cry. You don't get all the credit."

"Does that mean you still want to train together?"

"I wouldn't be here, with you, unless I wanted to be," she threw his own damn words back at him without hesitation and he nudged her foot with his own. She wasn't looking at their feet, so she jumped at the ticklish sensation and then frowned at him, like he should be taking this more seriously. She had no idea how seriously he'd been taking it since the beginning.

"You're staying?" The '_with me'_ was left unsaid, though they both heard it clearly.

"Someone once told me I don't belong anywhere else but here."

"Are you going to keep repeating things I've told you?" He asked, not that he minded.

"Why not?" She stepped closer until she was right in front of him and had to look up. "It's the truth. If I belong here, then so do you."

Maybe the point wasn't _where _they belonged, but that they belonged there together.

He'd accepted her words at the time, stopped worrying as much about the day that things would be over. It hadn't gone away completely, though. From time to time, that old fear would come back and he'd try to bury it again, as much as he could.

He ignores everything in the background: Granger lecturing Kensi, Eric begging Hetty for a dismissal, their other colleagues chattering amongst themselves, grateful they aren't in the spotlight today. Nell's across from him and he knows she's still unhappy over something. He wishes she'd tell him what it is. He wants to cross the four feet between them and kiss away every line of worry and unhappiness on her face. He knows it's a ridiculous thought, and it doesn't make him want it any less.

He loves her. He always has.

Most of the time, he tries not to think about it, pushes it into the furthest recesses of his mind. He's pretty good at lying to himself, which makes it a little easier. He doesn't know how she feels, but he's intentionally chosen to believe she views him strictly in the context of co-workers and friends. He'd never wanted to take a misstep, couldn't risk doing the wrong thing and driving away the one person that he thought…maybe…

He knows if he's wrong, that will be the end of it. It'd be too uncomfortable to continue spending time together if one of them wanted more than the other. His philosophy has always been that it was better to have her, as they were, than to risk anything more. His life up until NCIS had given him little reason to have faith in anything, least of all people sticking around. It was hard to admit caring for someone in a world that had already stolen so many people from him.

That's not to say he hasn't considered telling her. He's thought about it more times than he can count, endless scenarios playing out in countless different ways. He's tried to come up with the exact words said at the right times, the precise steps in the necessary places that would keep her from vanishing from his life.

He'd never come up with anything remotely close to foolproof for one simple reason – the world didn't work that way. He had no guarantee he could keep her, which meant he'd never risked it. The loss of her would wreck him, and he's _through _with being wrecked. Is it too much to ask for one thing? One happiness that wouldn't leave him ruined? (Considering the cruelty of the world he's lived in his entire life, he figures it probably is.)

He's resigned himself to living with things the way they are. He's happy with their friendship. Despite avoiding a few key topics, what they have is pretty great: they work well together, have fun training, and talk about nearly everything. They're always there for each other, no matter the amount of advice or support or help the other one needs. They're as affectionate with each other as they want, and they put each other first, and they – it hits him with such force that he actually sways on his feet, vision temporarily blurring.

_They're already in a relationship._

Not officially. Not one they've ever talked about. But damn if it isn't as clear to him as the room he's standing in, as her across from him, concern crossing her face at what must be his expression of pure shock at how deep his denial has gone.

Once he sees what's been happening, it can't be unseen.

He remembers last week when she'd asked if he had any dates recently. He'd struggled to get through that conversation without revealing his true feelings, and what had he told her? _You're the longest I've spent with one woman in nearly a_ _decade_. He'd spelled it out to himself (and her) and it _still _hadn't occurred to him how odd their behavior was.

Has Nell picked up on the way they've been acting? Has she been playing into it for the same reasons he did? Or has he been living this delusion completely on his own while she thought of him as her close friend, indulging him because she saw how much he needed her?

A seven-month-long series of delusions starts collapsing on him like dominoes. How they've spent more time together the longer this has gone on (when it should have been the opposite – less training as she became more skilled). Their easy intimacy with each other. The questions and reactions from people around them. Good God, half the building thinks they're in a relationship and worse than that, it must seem like he and Nell are making it obvious to everyone in some kind of insane challenge to see if they're ever openly called on it – and they _have _been. Multiple times! They'd laughed it off, agreed that everyone around them was delusional, when in reality the truth was the exact opposite. _They _were the delusional ones. (Or maybe it was just him.)

He thinks he'd be humiliated if it weren't so hilarious how he'd expertly manipulated _himself_.

His entire time with her could be summed up in one word: denial. He'd deliberately chosen to avoid the subject of a relationship between them while acting like they were in one.

In an instant, his strategy of pretending no longer applies. He's unknowingly been living an elaborate lie, a fantasy spun out of his refusal to see reality, and he can't feed into it anymore. It was one thing when he hadn't recognized the extent of it, quite another when he'll now be analyzing everything he does. He can't continue to pretend he's not in love with her when every move he makes tells _everyone_ that he is.

It can't be healthy; the mere act of deciding to stop pretending feels like a tremendous weight's lifted from his shoulders. It's replaced with the terror that he might lose her, imminently, but there's a freedom in finally knowing and accepting the truth. Whether she's pretending not to know, or truly doesn't see it, eventually something's going to snap her out of her own state of obliviousness, and he knows if neither of them is willing to talk about it, they're going to lose each other anyway.

**XXXXXX**


	10. Chapter 10

**Final chapter! One last time, thanks for all your feedback! It kept me going. This is one of my favorite stories I've ever written, and I hope everyone following it enjoys the ending.**

**XXXXXX**

Over the years, Callen has crafted a specific, guarded way to interact with other people. For the most part, it's easiest to avoid others on a personal level entirely.

He doesn't like to talk about his past with anyone; he doesn't want to deal with their pity and he's never found it fair to lay on other people the demons that are his alone. That doesn't mean he's never tried. When he was young, he answered their questions and he was honest and nothing ever changed. Social workers, foster parents, and mandated counselors had always been interchangeable to him. They offered variations of weak promises to find him 'a better placement' and shallow declarations that 'it wasn't his fault' (and more than a few times, he'd been treated to lectures that it _was _his fault).

It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was easier to find a new foster home if the next family heard he'd had 'differences' with his last placement than if they heard he had 'lied' about being locked in his room for an entire day. And though foster homes weren't ideal, they were better than group homes and orphanages by a wide margin (less people to fight with, for one). So when he was around ten or eleven, he'd learned to stop sharing.

Now, whenever he can't avoid the subject, he gives as little information as possible to stop the line of inquiry. Usually a remark or anecdote from his childhood is enough to get the other person to deflect or change the topic. He doesn't blame them, either – it's too uncomfortable. People say they care, that they want to know the truth, but no one actually wants to _hear_ it.

Nell's different.

For the first time since he could remember, he'd wanted to talk to someone. And he'd never stopped. She knows how to listen, and he'd learned in their first few weeks together that he didn't need to joke around to ease any potential discomfort. Even more astonishing, it doesn't feel shameful to accept her sympathy or her caring. There's a difference between someone pitying him and someone being genuinely upset on his behalf. Their pasts are vastly different, but she accepts his with the same easiness that he accepts hers, and he knows that it's infinitely harder for her. She _understands_, which should be impossible given that she has no personal experience with the kinds of things he's lived through, and yet, it's there, and it's real – he knows because he sees it in her eyes when he talks to her.

His childhood doesn't hurt the way it used to before he joined NCIS. He has plenty of happy memories, they just came along a few decades later. They're from his job and his friends, a team of people who've become his family. His favorite memories, though, are undeniably centered around Nell. He feels he's lived as many great moments in the past seven months, with her, as he had in the five years before.

The memories flash by: pushing her under the waves, tracing her steps in the woods, the brilliant look on her face when she tackled him into the sand – and later, her quiet words: _I know who you are._

He'd been so intent on staying in denial that he became an expert at disregarding anything that could indicate she's ever cared for him as more than a friend. Now he wonders if it's possible they're more alike than he thought, if they've both been operating under the same set of mistaken rules and guidelines.

Maybe he should question everything.

Eight weeks into their sessions, she'd shown up to work looking slightly off.

He'd brushed away the nagging at the back of his mind. They didn't have any active cases, so Nell spent the day doing research on cold cases for Hetty. Granger had taken the opportunity to give Callen a stack of agent files and ordered him to narrow down the best candidates for a vacancy on another team. He'd complained to Sam about doing Granger's 'busy work'. Annoyingly, Sam had called him on the truth – that he was flattered at their boss's trust in his judgment.

Nell appeared at his desk in the late afternoon, a welcome reprieve from the hundreds of pages he'd been sifting through for hours. It might have been the lighting, but her face seemed unnaturally pale when she asked, "Free after work?"

"Always," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking her in. "You alright?"

"Never better," she'd sworn. He'd ignored his worry and gone back to work.

When they entered the gym that night, Deeks and Kensi were also there, taking the opportunity to practice.

"Not too late to back out, Nell," Deeks told her, watching the two of them set up. He still found it strange to see them together, but in a good way. He'd never seen Callen this happily dedicated to anything (or anyone) outside of a case, and Nell, she threw herself into it with a passion Deeks found contagious. He kept waiting for her enthusiasm to wane and it never did. He'd known what they'd bring out in each other, and every day was bringing him one step closer to being proven right.

Nell stretched her arms over her head. "You've been saying that for two months, Deeks. Are you scared at how fast I'm learning? Few more weeks and I'll be able to take you down without breaking a sweat."

Scarily enough, he didn't doubt it. "Hey, if you want to take lessons from Callen's 'Screw the World That's Out to Get You' Handbook, that's up to you."

Nell smiled at his description, apt as it was. Callen loved to drill into her head that she should never trust anyone. Ever. _Ever_.

She was a little less cynical than him, but she found it good advice to take to heart.

"Around 80% of attacks on women are perpetrated by someone she personally knows," Callen told them. Nell had heard it before; it was one of his most-cited statistics when he was trying to emphasize the need for vigilance. He wasn't wrong, and she knew that as a woman she was far more likely to be attacked than a man. She also knew that if she wanted to be out in the field more, being a woman put her at a disadvantage. She had to even the playing field, and she intended to keep at it until she reached the day where she could take down anyone who would try and use her size against her.

After Callen, Kensi was the person Nell tried to emulate the most since the other woman had proven herself as effective in the field as any of the men they worked with. (She secretly hoped that one day the new agents would look up to _her _in the same way.)

At the threat of facing Callen's never-ending statistics, Deeks wisely shut up. He wouldn't win against Callen on that front, nor did he want to when he knew the other man spoke the truth. Besides, he was mostly teasing. Anything that made his friends stronger – whether against an attacker or a suspect they had to take down – was fine in his book.

He watched the way Callen and Nell laughed over some inside joke before turning back to his partner. 'Bet' he mouthed, nodding at them.

"Shut up," Kensi muttered, trying to kick him. "I'm going to win." Part of her was beginning to worry, though.

(When Callen and Nell had struck up their arrangement, Deeks had bet Kensi that their association would 'alter reality as they knew it' – his dramatic way of saying Callen and Nell would eventually end up together. Kensi had happily taken the bet. Her partner lived in a fantasy world based on enthusiastic optimism and an overly romantic nature. He didn't see that Callen was too closed off to the world, that Nell was far too nice to ever pry into his personal life. They could train together, they could become better friends, but anything more than that…Kensi couldn't wrap her mind around it.)

It didn't take long into their session for Callen to recognize that something wasn't right. Nell was too slow and deliberate in her movements. She took too many breaks, supposedly to watch Deeks and Kensi. When Callen was able to pin her three times within a ten minute span, he sat back on the mat next to her, the worry in him growing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She was lying on her back, contemplating how comfortable the mats were. (She'd never noticed before, maybe because she was always hitting them with significant force?)

Callen knew he should have put it together quicker than he did. He slid his hand under the back of her neck and found her skin to be unnaturally warm. She had a fever around 102 if he had to guess, but it could have been higher. "Nell, you're sick."

She turned her head to face him. "Yeah, I know."

"And you wanted to practice. Why?"

"It'll make me better. At training, I mean. What do you always say about no one cutting me any slack? It doesn't matter if I have a cold."

"I don't think colds cause fevers that high."

She ignored the censure in his tone. "No one who's trying to hurt me is going to back off if I say I'm not feeling well."

"Wow," Deeks was shaking his head, "I never thought I'd say this, but if I hadn't heard that in your voice, I'd have sworn it was Callen speaking. You two are becoming more and more alike."

Nell perked up a little. "You think?"

"Obviously you'd take that as a compliment," Deeks said wryly. "I thought you looked awful earlier. I didn't say anything because I'm chivalrous like that." He knelt down and pressed his hand to her forehead. "Damn, girl."

She lazily pushed his hand away, too tired to put up much of a fight. "The exercise is making me better already. Look at me."

Callen, Deeks, and Kensi stared at her lying on the floor.

"Go home," Kensi implored. "Callen will happily supply you with plenty of opportunities to torture yourself in the future."

Callen couldn't fault Nell's logic of no one cutting her any slack based on how she felt, but it bothered him that she'd been taking him literally to the point that she wanted to spar with him while she was sick. "I find your dedication admirable, Nell. Not many would show this kind of self-discipline –"

"Not many?" Kensi interrupted, sounded incredulous. "Try _no one_. This is why you have the reputation you do. You've literally pushed her to the brink of collapse."

"As I was saying," Callen shot Kensi a glare, "although I appreciate it, Nell, you have to go home."

"I'm good." Nell forced herself to sit up next to Callen, pressing a hand to the back of her neck. "I took some medicine earlier, my fever should be gone any minute. I can go a few more rounds."

"Seriously?" Deeks asked.

"No, not seriously," Callen said, words aimed at Nell. She stubbornly didn't move. "You'd rather be here than at home in bed?"

She spoke with such easy conviction when she said, "I'd always rather be here with you."

(That was the moment Kensi knew she'd made the wrong bet.)

Ever since that day, whenever the memory came back to him, Callen had tried to convince himself that her words had been the result of a fever that caused her to become slightly delirious. It worked back then; now, he's not so sure.

While he debates whether he should wait until they're alone to talk to her, Nell's trying to figure out why he looks more agitated than he did a few minutes ago.

She can probably guess. It wasn't smart to kiss him; he'd played it off as a joke, a tactic to surprise him, but she suspects he's overthinking it and worrying that she might have feelings for him that he doesn't return. It shouldn't be this complicated, nothing should be, and though she thinks they're both rational people, they have this way of losing that ability when they're around each other.

Nell brought it on herself. She'd made the choice that led to this, seven months ago, and she can't undo it – she wouldn't if she could. She thought that by training with Callen she'd learn a few things and they'd part ways and that would be it. Nothing would change except that she'd be better able to take care of herself.

If she'd never approached him, they'd still be in the same place as before: friendly acquaintances who smiled at each other in the halls and would do anything for each other on a case, like everyone else on their team. But there wouldn't be this undercurrent of feeling between them, this need that tied them together in unspoken ways. …Or would there?

She's starting to wonder if their sessions only gave them an excuse, if the training made it easier to acknowledge what might have been there already. Why had she wanted him to teach her more than anyone else? Why had he thrown himself into the challenge after only a token refusal? Why did they start planning the rest of their lives around their training, when it should have been the other way around?

Looking at him now, she can't imagine seeing him as only her colleague or her boss or her acquaintance. Maybe it's an illusion of her mind, of feelings she already has, but she's almost positive she would have come to love him eventually. _How could she not?_

"Nell," he's uncomfortable, which isn't characteristic of him, "I don't know if this is the best time to talk to you." He glances around and she's briefly reminded of everyone lingering nearby. (Why are they still here? Does Granger want them to live in the gym or something?)

Maybe it's to delay any potential rejection when she asks, "Do you remember the night I asked you to train me?"

His unease melts away as he says warmly, "Of course I do."

And that might say something, in and of itself, because it wasn't the kind of memory that they should both remember fondly, or as anything significant. Yet they do. She could describe it in near exact detail.

"I almost didn't ask you," she reveals. "I debated it for quite a while."

He looks at her in that way he has, when he's learned something that he thinks he should have already known. "I guess it's only fair, since I almost said no."

"You _did_ say no."

"You convinced me otherwise."

"Did it take much convincing?"

He shakes his head. "You know it didn't."

It hadn't been easy when she'd decided, seven months earlier, to approach Callen and ask him for help. She'd asked both Deeks and Kensi before him, but they'd declined. Neither had enough free time that matched up with hers. They'd both suggested she ask Callen ('The two of you are here until all hours anyway,' Deeks had pointed out).

Deeks and Kensi had no idea Callen had been her first choice to begin with. She couldn't say why he'd always been the one she pictured when she was imagining who might train her. He seemed to fit in a way no one else did. She knew he'd probably be a strict teacher, but she thought she had the best chance to get nearer to his level if he was the one training her. She'd been reluctant to approach him because it didn't seem fair to ask him to take her on when he had more responsibilities than the others. But if he was fine with it…she didn't want to miss the chance.

It was late in the evening and his desk was abandoned; she spotted him lounging on one of the couches nearby, reading case reports. Many of the lights were out, or dimmed, except the ones near him. He was the last one there, besides her. That wasn't strange; over time, they'd both found they preferred working late if it meant avoiding the alternative of coming in early.

She watched him for a minute, wondering if that was as relaxed as he ever got – going over paperwork late at night while still at work. And she wanted him to stay late on other days, too, in order to train her? It was a lot to ask of him, and he'd probably find it a pretty selfish request. She should forget it and find an actual instructor through Hetty. She turned away and –

"You can't leave without explaining why you've been silently watching me from the shadows, Nell."

She spun back around. "I…wasn't."

"Wow, your clever explanation has convinced me I was mistaken," he teased, sitting up straighter. He saw she had her belongings and must be on her way out. "Did you want something?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "Um…yes." She glanced around, as if hoping someone would walk by and save her. Too bad everyone else they worked with had personal lives and were long gone.

Callen saw her reluctance. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?" He was instantly more alert, as if expecting there to be a threat in the building he'd completely missed. As if she'd never ask him for anything if it weren't serious, and that made her feel worse, and even more selfish.

"Nothing's wrong," she assured him, taking a step back. "Never mind."

"I will mind," he insisted, before she could escape. He was met with silence, though she didn't leave, which was progress. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to harass you. Every day. Forever."

She felt herself smiling against her will. "Really?"

"Really. Come to work, here I am. Get in your car, I'm in the backseat. Grocery store, I'm in the produce aisle. At home, there I am in your closet. Okay, not that last one. Maybe."

She loved that his version of 'harassment' was basically just following her around. "I actually wouldn't put any of that past you."

"As well you shouldn't. So tell me, what's going on?"

She sighed, knowing she was defeated. At worst, he'd say no. "I was going to ask if you wanted, that is, if you'd consider…" she wrung her hands, painfully aware of how awkward she sounded. She was botching this terribly and there was no reason for it. If she could work fine with him on cases every day, why couldn't she form a coherent sentence when it came to a personal request? "What I mean is, when we're both free, maybe we could get together?"

He looked at her sharply, and she realized that by failing to adequately explain herself, she'd unintentionally asked him out.

"No!" She exclaimed, waving her hands around to try and erase what she'd said. "I don't mean together. Well, I _do_ mean together. But not _together _together. Know what I mean?"

"You just said the word 'together' four times," he said carefully, trying not to laugh, or make her any more flustered than she already was. "Yet there was no context, at least that I can figure out. What exactly are you proposing we _do_ together?"

How had she left that part out? She was incredibly grateful for the dim lighting that hid her increasing embarrassment. "Fight."

"Not as fun as I was hoping," he quipped. "You want to fight me? Should I remind you that we've done that before?"

She blinked, sure that he'd made a joke about…but he moved on too quickly for her to question it. She tried to focus, second-guessing everything for another reason – if he could throw her off-balance with a casual remark, this might not be the best idea she ever had. "Yes, but I want more than that. I'll start again. Would you be willing to train me?"

"Train you to fight? You already know how."

"I want to brush up on my self-defense skills and learn some new sparring techniques. I'm good enough to pass the tests, but I want to learn more. You're one of the best here and I think if anyone could teach me a few things, it'd be you."

No one had ever asked him anything like that before, and although he wanted to say yes, he didn't think it was wise. He wasn't sure he'd be an effective teacher and he didn't want Nell to end up disappointed, or to think less of him when he wasn't what she expected. Most importantly, he liked her a lot more than he should, and being required to spend time with her might lead him to places he'd sworn never to go.

He hesitated for a minute, wavering on what to do, before shaking his head. "I'm flattered that you would ask me, Nell, but I don't know if we'd be a good match. I'll try to think of someone else for you, though." He picked up another folder from the stack next to him, and the words were as good as a dismissal.

Nell knew a polite brush-off when she heard one. She should have let it go (after all, a few minutes prior she'd been about to walk away without even asking), but for some reason she couldn't. It was like following through had made her realize how much she wanted him, and _only _him, to teach her. He sparred enough with other people that if she took a few of those sessions, it wouldn't be like he was giving up that much of his time.

Her deciding factor was that his refusal hadn't sounded that convincing. For a moment, she'd been sure he was going to say yes. So while it might be selfish to persist, she chose to do it anyway. She wanted this.

"I'm sorry I asked," she said. "I shouldn't have bothered you. You probably have other – better – things to do with your time."

He glanced at her over the top of the folder. "Nell."

"Why waste it on teaching someone like me?" She continued. "If you were going to teach anyone, we could both name a dozen better candidates. People who I'm sure would benefit from your time much more than me."

"You can't possibly think that you're not worth spending time on."

She sighed, a little too dramatically, and his suspicion was confirmed. "No, Callen, I get it. You don't think I can learn to fight the way you do. You're probably right."

She held her breath when he stood up and walked over to her, thoughtfully tapping a folder against one hand. "You're really laying it on thick, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," she insisted, fiddling with the shoulder strap on her bag. "Is it working?"

He hit her lightly with the folder. Why had he said no to her again? "The other person isn't supposed to know that you're manipulating them."

"You know. And it's working on you," she pointed out.

He didn't have to think about it. He'd wanted to say yes and forced himself not to. Once was hard enough, he wouldn't do it again. "Fine," he agreed, tone implying that he was doing her an immense favor (in truth, he suspected he was going to enjoy it far more than she was, for however long it lasted). Some part of him was urgently warning that if he was this easily swayed, he was in a lot of trouble; he ignored it. "I'll take you on."

"Thank you," she said, dropping the act. "I really appreciate that you'd do this for me. Whatever schedule is best for you, I'll work around it. I don't want to cut into your personal life…" she glanced around the empty room, "…of late nights here."

Her light-hearted jab was reminiscent of the comments she'd occasionally make when they discussed cases, when everyone would glance at each other in disbelief that _Nell _of all people would make a sarcastic joke. They didn't know her at all, and he loved it. "Watch it, Nell. You know, it's almost 10 and you're here, too."

"Huh." She'd missed that he could turn that one back around on her. "Yeah, that's unfortunate."

"How can it be when you're here with me? Not many people can say that."

She swore it was like he was setting her up. "Obviously."

"Keep antagonizing the person you asked to teach you," he warned. "You might regret it."

"I highly doubt that," she said, leveling her own challenge.

Neither of them had stopped playing the game they'd started that night.

It's seven months later and it amazes Nell what's happened since then; they'd had no idea what they were beginning.

Something about the memory is odd, though, and it's never occurred to her before.

"Callen, every time I stayed late, you were here, too," she speaks slowly, figuring it out as she explains it to him, as if he didn't know what he was doing the whole time. "You waited for me?"

"Well, yeah," he's confused. "I still do."

"Now, sure. I mean we're usually going to practice or…" she shakes her head. "Back then I thought it was coincidence."

"What is it you like to say? I don't have anywhere else to be." He can't figure out the look on her face. "I was still working, Nell. I just…happened to work late the same nights you did."

She can't make sense of it. "Why?"

He doesn't say anything.

He just _looks _at her.

"You stayed so I wasn't alone," she whispers, memories lining up in a new way.

Shortly after they started their training sessions, he made it more obvious – and she'd never picked up on it. He'd wander into Ops at night to annoy her about leaving. Or he'd keep inviting her downstairs until she gave in one night, and from then on, she'd stayed down there as often as her work allowed. She'd take an armchair near the couch and they'd both try to work until one of them inevitably distracted the other. Some nights they ended up staying impossibly late and didn't get any work done at all.

Her moment of realization is his, too. Callen watches a million flickering emotions cross her face and the pieces fit in a way they never have before. He sees the whole picture when he'd never seen more than bits and pieces, outlines that made him wonder, and entire blank sections that he didn't know how to fill. And it's blinding. She's _blinding_.

She loves him, probably as much as he loves her.

He owes her at least an attempt at an explanation. "I liked you. Since your first week when you ignored half of us and stood up to the other half. I kept my distance because it wasn't a good idea and when I started training you, I thought I could manage to keep things friendly. Professional. A combination of ignoring it and lying to myself and explaining away anything that didn't fit the narrative we were supposed to have. It worked, too. A lot of the time I didn't even let myself _think_ along those lines. Forget lying to everyone else, I was lying to myself, and believing it."

She doesn't say anything, and he can't figure out if she's angry or upset. Whatever she is, he knows he deserves it.

"I said no when you asked me to train you because I was under the delusion that if I kept my distance, I wouldn't end up falling in love with you." He rubs his hands over his face and then looks at her again, suddenly weary. "As if it wouldn't have happened anyway."

All she can manage is, "Why didn't you tell me?"

He's well-aware that doing this here runs the risk of others hearing, but he doesn't care. He has to explain it to her; she has to know. "Nell, when I was very young, I learned that wanting something didn't mean you'd ever get it. And if you did, it just meant the inevitable loss of it would hurt you." A family, a home, friends. Love. "I have more now than I ever expected as a kid, but I've never stopped waiting for it to go away. It's not an excuse, it's an explanation, and it's the best one I have."

It takes a lot, _a lot_, for her to keep a tight rein on her emotions when he tells her that. She can't speak because she's sure it will undo her.

He sees it, too, and keeps talking so she won't have to. "I didn't tell you because of the chance I might lose you. I didn't want to face that. Not after…" he gestures between them, and she knows he's referring to what they've become to each other. Connected in a hundred invisible ways and the thought of losing that had been crippling to a man conditioned to stop every connection before it formed. The only thing worse than never having those ties in the first place? Having them deliberately cut by the people you loved when they _chose_ to leave you behind.

She's been at fault here, too. She takes a deep breath and hopes her voice won't waver too badly. "I didn't think you'd ever want anything more. I thought bringing it up would make you feel as if you'd been leading me on, that you'd suggest we stop. It was safer to pretend there was nothing there."

"Nell, to say I'm bad at relationships is quite the understatement. Our jobs require so much time and energy, they're extremely dangerous, they force us to lie to everyone we know. And if the job doesn't end it, I inevitably screw up. It's why I stopped trying."

She feels the world drop out from underneath her. He can't do this to her. He wouldn't. "Tell me that's not your way of saying you don't want to…try to be with me."

"Nell," his voice softens imperceptibly, "I'm already with you."

Her voice is equal parts hopeful and unsure. "You are?"

She doesn't see it either, then. Callen thinks a case study should probably be done on the two of them.

"What have we been doing? Not only the training. Everything else that came with it." He waits for it to sink in. "Those reasons that things have never worked out for me? They never mattered with you. I realized today that I've been in a relationship for months and I've worked harder at it than any one I've had before."

He's right, and she's been doing it, too. They've been acting as if they were in the relationship they wanted instead of the one – co-workers/friends/training partners – that they outwardly claimed to have. She'd say something if she could wrap her mind around what's happening. It's a strange thing for the world to look exactly the same when everything has changed. One conversation and she has no idea how to act. They've learned to carefully orbit each other these past seven months and those rules might no longer apply. She clasps her hands behind her back to keep from reaching out to him. She isn't sure if he wants her to do that here, in front of the others. If it'd be welcome.

(Though it's kind of late to be worrying about what anyone else thinks.)

He sees her uncertainty and isn't sure where it's coming from. He steps forward until he can reach around her to take hold of her hands, pulling her closer. "Nell, you don't know how much I prayed that once you figured it out, you'd want to keep going." He falters when he realizes she hasn't actually agreed to this. "Please tell me you want to keep –"

She wrenches her hands out of his and he's thinking that's a sign to back away when she pulls him down to kiss him. It's not as much that they forget where they are as they both simultaneously decide not to care, and everything they've been holding back breaks wide open. Nell can't describe it, it's more than sparks – she would swear colors are exploding inside her mind with the way the feelings tear through her, throwing her off-balance. Thankfully he's still there, keeping her upright and sane, though she thinks she wouldn't mind falling apart with him.

Her entire perception of the universe dims until it encompasses only herself and the man standing in front of her. She should have at least suspected what it'd be like. They've always had affection for each other and a tangible chemistry, and that was _before _they'd been in love. She'd imagined what it might be like if they went further, though she'd always written it off as unlikely and thus not worth speculating about too much.

She'd been very, very wrong.

When Callen feels her lips curve into a smile against his, he can't help matching it. He's never felt anything like it before, this kind of connection with another person. There's so much he has to tell her and he doesn't know if he can adequately explain. They've failed, considerably, at talking about their feelings before, and they have no guarantees either of them will get any better at it, so he deepens the kiss and tries to tell her with actions, instead.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly when he pulls back. "I wish I'd told you months ago. We could have avoided…"

She knows what he means. All the hurt they'd inadvertently caused each other by waiting so long. "It was my fault, too. Forget it, Callen, that doesn't matter anymore."

When he hugs her, an unexpected wave of relief hits her as she realizes that after months of uncertainty they're finally _here_. Despite the ways they've sabotaged themselves, they made it. She wants to tell him so many things. How long she's wanted this, and exactly how much he means to her and why, but she'll save it for later. If she starts, she won't be able to stop.

There's only one thing, right now, that she needs him to hear. "I'm in love with you, too."

He frames her face with his hands. "You are far more than I…imagined someone could be." As if that isn't enough he adds, "To me."

She nods thoughtfully. "I am pretty great."

"And amazingly humble."

She laughs and he's going to kiss her again when Deeks (who's set a personal world record for staying quiet thus far) interrupts with, "You two really set the bar high for professionalism. Ah, what am I saying, you always have."

Callen's sure his hearing must be going. "_You_ want to lecture us on professionalism?"

Deeks won't be dissuaded. He's been waiting for this day. "I have a question: how do two people fall in love, yet have no idea that the other feels the same way? No, better question: how does everyone in their life know they belong together before they do?"

The second question, and its implication, surprises Nell. She glances around, taking in the unnatural silence of the room. Most people are trying (and failing) to pretend like they haven't noticed anything amiss. Hetty's face is carefully blank, which could mean anything, and Granger has his arms crossed, mouth set in disapproval (although that's usually his normal expression when looking at Callen).

Deeks regards his colleagues with a gravity that no one's used to from him. "When you were asking around for a teacher, aren't you glad Kensi and I turned you down?" The question lingers with more intent than it should have had.

Kensi reads the surprise on Nell's face and tries to explain. "Deeks convinced me to do it. He had a list of reasons and most of them were sound, like how much better Callen would be at teaching you than us, and how you both already got along so well. A few other reasons were out there, and I mostly wanted to prove him wrong on that front. And then time passed, and it turned out he was right."

Deeks is grinning, but there's no trace of smugness, only genuine happiness for his friends. "I hope neither of you are mad." He turns to Nell. "If you and Callen hadn't gotten along – as I was convinced you would – one of us was going to step in and offer to teach you, instead."

"I'm not mad," Nell assures them. She couldn't be when it had led to one of the best things in her life. She still finds it hard to wrap her mind around everyone knowing before they did. "You can't all have known."

Eric's insanely glad this game is over. He's been waiting forever. "Eventually, yes, we did. Half of us thought you were denying it to try and hide it, the other half thought you might just be that oblivious about what was going on. Guess the 'oblivious' group won out in the end."

"I should have known your cluelessness wasn't an act," Sam tells his partner, clearly disappointed in himself.

Nell shakes her head at them. "You're exaggerating."

"Come on, Nell. How can you think either of you did _any _good at hiding it? I mean, except from each other." Deeks jerks his thumb toward the man on the bench behind Hetty, "Even Cameron knew."

"I did," Cameron confirms, mutters something about 'crazy together'.

"Shut up, Cameron," Callen snaps, but he's not even mad.

"And none of you could have told us?" Nell demands, then considers what she's saying. "I guess there were the questions, and jokes, and insinuations, and those rumors…what is _wrong_ with us?"

"A question for the ages," Deeks says cheerfully. "But it's been a hell of a show. Thank you for that."

"Agents Callen and Jones," Granger finally gathers himself, as if on cue, "I don't know if I have the words."

"Then don't look for them," Callen suggests.

Granger knew this day was coming, and he's reconsidered his options a dozen times, yet he always reaches the same conclusion. "This is highly unusual. I don't have to tell you it's not allowed, but as you aptly pointed out a few minutes ago – in the middle of the room for everyone you work with, _including your bosses_, to hear – you two have essentially been in a relationship for months now and your work hasn't suffered. In fact, you've gotten better. You've left me with no choice except to…do nothing."

Nell wants to hug him and wisely restrains herself. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't pretend I had a choice," Granger says. "I'd rather have both of you than neither of you." He knows, as well as everyone else, that they'll never agree to separate teams. If he makes them choose between NCIS and each other, he'll never see them again. He'll catch hell for this, but it's preferable to the alternative of explaining why he stood back and allowed one of their best teams to fall apart on his watch.

Callen's relieved that a fight he'd been anticipating isn't going to happen. He also knows what the older man is going to have to deal with on their behalf. "We appreciate it," he tells their boss, extending his hand.

Granger doesn't miss the depth of the words and acknowledges them by shaking Callen's hand. Then he nods stiffly and adds, "This doesn't mean I want to see it. The two of you take it somewhere else. Preferably far away from me."

"If kissing someone means I get a free pass for the day, I'm game." Deeks looks around, and when Kensi rolls her eyes, he turns to the next closest target. "Get over here, Eric."

"Hey, I'm not giving this away for free," Eric informs him.

"Be that way," Deeks sounds disappointed. "Hell, I'll kiss you, Granger, if you're so amenable."

Granger rubs his forehead and then shoves Deeks away when he gets entirely too close. "I didn't dismiss anyone. We have a few more things to go over."

"I don't know, it kind of sounded like a dismissal," Callen argues.

"Shut up," Nell hisses, "before he lets everyone go and makes you stay overnight."

Hmm. Granger thinks he might like this. "Better listen to her, Callen. She could make your life a whole lot easier. Maybe she'll do the impossible and make you more tolerable, too."

"Don't worry, the day I realize she's turning me into someone _you _like, I'll just break up with her."

"You could _try_," she scoffs, before realizing that makes her sound a little bit psychotic.

Callen's going to make another joke. Instead, he searches her face and then kisses her briefly. "No," he shakes his head, "I couldn't." He turns back to their boss. "I'm sorry, sir, you might have to start accepting that there's a good chance I'll turn into your favorite agent."

"I wish I could fire you," Granger sighs.

"And here I naively thought the entertainment was over," Deeks stage whispers to Kensi. "I think it's only starting to begin."

"You can fire me," Callen's saying, "I'll retire to…where are you going? It's Hawaii, right? I'll be there." He adds as an afterthought, "If Nell likes Hawaii."

Granger has no idea how Callen's figured out where he planned to retire – it would be his luck to be drinking on the beach and then Callen would show up to ensure he had as vexing a retirement as he'd had a career.

"That's it," Granger declares. "I'm leading class tomorrow, too. Be here at 0800."

Everyone starts arguing with him, and Nell doesn't know if she can take a repeat of today. "Let's call in sick tomorrow," she tells Callen, who agrees.

Granger won't be played. "Anyone who skips tomorrow will no doubt face the never ending harassment of their peers, since I'll keep forcing everyone to come in each morning, until the whole team's here."

Deeks throws a manual at Callen. "If you don't show up, I'm personally coming to your house and dragging you here. I may not be able to do it alone, but I think I can recruit the others to help."

Sam, Kensi, and Eric voice their agreement.

"We'll be here," Nell promises, talking loudly over Callen who's claiming his house is like a fortress and let them try to come and take him.

"Maybe take an actual look through the manual," Sam tells Callen, "since we're being punished thanks to you."

"Wait a minute, thanks to _me_?" Callen can hardly take the injustice. "I think everyone made it perfectly clear they didn't want to participate today, so how am I the one that's getting –"

Nell puts an arm around his neck and stretches up to kiss him. It's the best strategy, though she suspects she's giving him too many ideas. They both like winning and it's not going to take him long to figure it out and turn it back around on her.

(Though if they start settling things this way, it might make her more inclined to provoke him.)

She dimly hears Granger in the background. "What did I say about that? Though if you can get Callen to shut up, I'll make an exception."

Callen doesn't miss Granger clueing him in. "Nell, you can't win that way!"

"I wasn't trying –"

"I'm kidding," he smirks. "Win that way whenever you want."

"Owen!" Hetty calls as she walks over with a book for him. "We got these in today, here's your copy and everyone else can find theirs upstairs."

Granger glances at it. "No. No. _No_, Hetty."

Any inkling he'd ever had that Henrietta Lange hated him was confirmed in that moment.

Deeks peers around Granger's shoulder to see that their boss is holding the updated firearms qualification manual. "How much can they have changed? Realistically?"

"Chapters 3 through 10 have been completely revised," Hetty says. "Or have they? Guess you'll have to read it to find out. Owen, you can take point on this one, too. I'll arrange time at one of our training facilities."

"Oh, one of those fake houses?" Deeks sounds way too into this. "I love those places. I'll volunteer to play the criminal you have to apprehend, I excel at the role. Getting away from everyone, humiliating them with my…criminal skills. It's going to be fun."

"I am going to shoot you so many times," Kensi says, sweetly.

"More hide and seek, Agent Blye," Granger reminds her. "Less hide and murder."

"He resisted."

Granger thinks on that. "I'll allow it."

"It hasn't happened yet!" Deeks exclaims.

"I don't have to participate in that, right?" Eric asks, then sighs forlornly when Hetty informs him that he does.

"I could use some practice," Nell admits. "I'm a little rusty. I don't get down to the shooting range as much as I'd like."

Callen's well aware of that. "Do you know there are lots of high-pressure situations and different environments that you should learn to shoot in so if the occasion arises, you're more prepared?"

Sam knows where this is going; the whole building probably knows. "Whatever you're thinking, G, I want no part of it."

"Come on, Sam, you'll miss out," he cajoles. "Anyone can join us. My teaching services are available for free."

No one speaks. "The silence is…deafening," Nell remarks.

"Your loss," Callen says, as if he isn't pleased it'll be him and Nell, like usual. "Sir, let me see that manual, I'll make my own notes where it needs to be improved."

Granger willingly hands it over. He's never going to get them back under control today. "Everyone get out of here."

He ignores their happy cheering and laughter as he heads for the exit. He has to prepare himself for tomorrow…and the next several months.

The six of them start arguing amongst themselves about the merits of target practice _from a helicopter_. Forget months, he's going to be dealing with them for years. (Like he always has, since the day he met them.)

He's walking away, which means no one sees him smile.

**XXXXXX**


End file.
